


something for the papers

by alittleunstable



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, Ciri and Geralt are siblings and they are CUTE ok, Discrimination based on blood status, F/M, Geralt thinks they’re already dating after the first chapter, M/M, Werewolves, ciri and Jaskier are also bffs, geralt is smart but he is also a big ol dummy, gryffindor ciri, hufflepuff jaskier, jaskier has a bad home life, jaskier is an oblivious walnut, just one incident, slytherin geralt, slytherin yennefer, therefore Jaskier has a crush on his best friends brother how cliche, yen and geralt are also bffs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22489888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittleunstable/pseuds/alittleunstable
Summary: Jaskier could really have gone this year without developing a sudden, obsessive infatuation with his best friends brother. A Slytherin, at that! There’s just something about Geralt though, and Jaskier can’t quite put his finger on it.Ciri seems to think the whole thing is delightful...The hogwarts AU nobody asked for
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 143
Kudos: 1149
Collections: Stupid Geralt/Sweet baby Jaskier, The Witcher





	1. only think about him on the weekdays, and weekends

So, sure, maybe Jaskier shouldn’t have followed Geralt into the forbidden forest. 

But what was he supposed to do? He’d been watching the seventh year slytherin, not in a creepy way or anything, but he was just - he was always there! At weird times too, like when Jaskier was studying in the library, or when he was having dinner - okay, yes, those are public places but- 

“I know you’re there.” 

Jaskier jolts out of his thoughts and stumbles backwards, managing to catch his foot on a root and go tumbling to the ground. Graceful. 

“Oh, yes, hello. So what are you up to then?” Jaskier decides there’s no point in beating around the bush, he really is beyond curious at this point.

The silver haired boy looks down at him with a raised eyebrow and barely concealed distaste. “Hm.” 

“That wasn’t - that’s not an answer, Geralt.” Jaskier attempts a glare as he heaves himself to his feet with no help, mind you. 

Geralt rolls his eyes. “What did I do in my past life to get stuck with a stalker from hufflepuff?” 

“Hey! That’s not fair, hufflepuff is a perfectly good house. You’re just jealous because your common room is in a dungeon and mine’s lovely and warm.” Jaskier huffs, trying and failing to clear his robes of dirt. A lost cause, perhaps. 

“Hm.” Geralt turns away from him and back towards the thick of the forest, as though he thinks this conversation is over, and that’s just rude, isn’t it? 

“I’m coming along if you won’t just tell me what you’re doing.” Jaskier lilts, pasting his most charming smile on and skipping along behind the older boy. 

“Go back, Jaskier.” 

The hufflepuff snorts and shakes his head, practically speed walking to keep up with Geralt’s broad steps. He sees Geralt clench his jaw in annoyance and his grin stretches. 

“How about I sing us a song to pass the time? I wrote a new one over the weekend about a very grumpy boy who pushes away all his friends because he’d rather be lonely, want to hear it?” 

Geralt stamps on a rogue branch far more aggressively than necessary, shooting a glare over his shoulder.

“Ah, I’ll take that as a yes, then!” Jaskier beams, ignoring Geralt’s drawn out sigh and opening his mouth only to freeze at the feeling of ice cold fingers wrapping around his ankle. “Ah- Geralt?!” His voice comes out with a shake and a nervous crack, and Geralt looks back curiously only to freeze as well.

“Don’t move,” Geralt says sharply, and Jaskier keeps his gaze on the slytherin determinedly, not looking down. 

“Is it going to kill me?” Jaskier can’t help but ask, and Geralt shakes his head minutely as he slowly draws his wand, aiming it close to Jaskier’s feet. “Am I going to lose a foot?” 

Geralt growls at him to shut up and then there’s a quick flick of his wand - a non verbal spell, as Jaskier doesn’t hear a thing, and there’s a hiss and the hand releases abruptly. Jaskier dashes forward before it can grip him again, only looking back when he’s behind Geralt. 

“Oh, Merlin, that’s a dead body!” Jaskier gapes, grabbing onto Geralt’s shoulder tightly, surprised when he isn’t shrugged off. It’s horrific, the blue tinged corpse, but it’s no longer moving and Geralt pats Jaskier’s head awkwardly in comfort.

“It’s a drowner, they’re not actually human. I told you not to follow me.”

“No, you said to head back. Which I would’ve, if you’d told me things like - things like that were out here!” Jaskier knows this was the wrong thing to say as soon as Geralt’s expression warps from concern to rage. 

“I shouldn’t need to explain myself to you!” Geralt snarls, and then grabs Jaskier by the wrist a bit too tight and starts dragging him along back the way they came. As they reach the edge of the forest, Geralt shoves him forward back into the clearing, towards the castle. 

“I’m sorry, Geralt, please don’t -“ 

“Go back!” Geralt repeats his earlier warning, eyes angry, and Jaskier wilts under his furious gaze.

“Alright. Sorry.” 

Geralt waits to watch him return to the castle, before heading back in himself, and Jaskier lets out a forlorn sigh as he enters the castle and heads for his common room. 

The portrait of a young girl looks at him with pity as he murmurs out the password, and he ignores her to go inside and sulk by the fireplace. 

It’s not long before Dara settles down beside him, passing him a treacle tart in silence.

Jaskier sinks further into the sofa with a groan. 

“I’m not that pathetic.” He says, even as he takes the offering.

“Yes, you are.” Dara says dryly, and then abandons him to his misery. 

... 

At breakfast Ciri drops down into the seat beside him, flipping off the Hufflepuff prefect when he opens his mouth to tell her to go back to Gryffindor. The boy looks defeated as he closes his mouth and goes back to his food.

“So, Dara told me you’ve been stalking my brother again,” She murmurs, and steals his apple and takes a massive bite from it. 

Jaskier glares at Dara sitting on the other side of her. “He’d have to say more than one sentence at a time to tell you about that,” he grumbles, and Dara flicks a blueberry at him in retaliation.

“Don’t be nasty,” Ciri frowns, “He’s just worried about you. And I am too,” She adds, eyes wide and annoyingly earnest. 

“There’s nothing to worry about, my dear Cirilla,” Jaskier forces a smile that she sees through in seconds, brow furrowing even further. 

“You’re in for heartbreak.” Dara adds unhelpfully, picking his bread apart, not even looking at his two friends, focused as he is on his meal. 

“I’m not...my heart has nothing to do with anything,” Jaskier crosses his arms. “My next ballad will feature two friends who are terrible at advice and constantly wrong about everything.” 

That gets a laugh from both his friends and he basks a little, despite that not being the reaction he’d wanted. He likes making his friends laugh, especially Dara, as difficult as he is to please. 

“Besides, Geralt is dating Yennefer, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” Jaskier adds, a touch petulantly. Ciri shakes her head and gestures with her half eaten apple towards the slytherin table.

“They broke up like four months ago, Jask. They’re just good friends now.” 

Dara looks up at the same time Jaskier perks and the dark skinned boy scowls at Ciri.

“Are you trying to get his hopes up?” Dara asks sharply and Ciri puts her hand up to placate him.

“It’s true! And I mean, you never know,” She adds, eyes twinkling and Dara groans. 

“I’m right here, you know?” Jaskier pouts, and the two both look suitably apologetic when they turn back to him, so he lets it go. “Anyway, have you finished the charms homework yet, Ciri?” 

“No, could you help me? I’m stuck about half way in.” 

And with that, the previous subject is rejected, but Jaskier can’t help the way his gaze strays back over to Slytherin table frequently as he speaks. Yennefer whispers something to Geralt that has his face flushing red, perhaps with anger or embarrassment, though Jaskier can’t think of anything that would embarrass the white wolf, and then suddenly their eyes are locked across the hall and Jaskier could live in this moment forever- 

Geralt breaks the contact and goes back to talking with Yennefer, as if the moment meant nothing to him. Jaskier wilts a bit.

...

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite the drama queen?” Yennefer asks him when he groans at her approach. He sputters at her as she settles her books on the same desk as his, pulling up a seat. “Anyway, we’re partners now.” 

Jaskier gapes at her. The audacity! “Actually, I already have a partner.” He lies quickly, but she just grins at him, wicked and sharp.

“Oh? Where might they be, then?” 

The hufflepuff realises quickly that Dara has moved to sit with Chireadan on the slytherin side of the classroom. Well, fuck. 

“Okay, so, I may not currently have a partner-“

“Yes you do, it’s me. Salazar, you’re thick.” Yennefer sounds long suffering as she opens her book to the appropriate page and points an uncomfortably sharp nail at the ingredients list. “Now go get these, I just got comfortable.”

Jaskier curses her existence in his head as he does as she says, knowing this’ll go faster if he just agrees and once this class is over he can go to the top of the astronomy tower and scream for thirty minutes. Maybe forty. 

It’s half way through stirring - six times, anti clockwise, twice clockwise - that Yennefer speaks again.

“Stalking isn’t a good way to flirt, you know.” She muses, as if this is the topic of light conversation between friends, which they certainly are not. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jaskier grumbles, and tries to focus on his task. Two more times, clockwise now. 

“Geralt of course. What else would I have to talk to you about?” She chuckles, arranging the newts eyes carefully by the cauldron. 

Jaskier winces. This is awkward. Except, he doesn’t even know which awkward it is. Is it ex girlfriend of crush awkward, or best friend of crush awkward? Or is it just sort of enemies awkward? Helga, help him. 

“I’m friends with him, not stalking him.” 

Yennefer grins, something mean and twisted.

“You’re not friends, whether you follow him around like a lost puppy or not.” 

Jaskier feels his heart clench and looks away, his hand stuttering in motion and shit, there goes the potion. Yennefer would know, of course, she knows everything about Geralt. Everything Jaskier wishes he knew, and never will, most likely. 

He ignores the pain in chest and simply shrugs his shoulders in response, going through the rest of the motions for the potion preparation despite it being a lost cause now that he screwed up the stirring. He ignores the sting of hurt. Its not the first time he’d misunderstood something, and it won’t be the last.

He doesn’t see Dara glaring daggers at Yennefer from across the room, doesn’t even look up when class ends, content to just make a quick escape and hide away in the library for a bit, like an utter coward. He just really doesn’t want another class with Slytherin. 

He’s half way through a rather sappy romance novel when a large hand grabs the book by its spine on either side and tugs it away from him. 

Jaskier blinks at his eyes meet golden ones, and his heart starts to race. Merlin, he’s a mess. 

“Geralt. Hi. Can I have my book back, please?” Jaskier forces himself to say, instead of professing his undying love and falling into the older boy’s arms. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmurs his name softly, almost reverently, but that’s definitely just Jaskier’s imagination. Just like their friendship is. “I’m sorry, for yelling at you in the forest. It’s dangerous in there, you almost got hurt.” 

Jaskier stares. And then stares some more. “You’re...sorry?” 

Geralt ducks his head and closes Jaskier’s book in his hands, definitely losing Jaskier’s place, as he nods. 

“Oh. Well, I kind of deserved it though, didn’t I? You told me not to follow you, so. I’m sorry too.” 

Geralt looks at him with a tilted head and a frown, before shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re far too nice.” He says, and places the book back on the table in front of Jaskier, moving towards the door without another word.

“Goodbye?” Jaskier calls, puzzled, and Geralt only graces this with a “Hm.” Which Jaskier supposes means goodbye in this context. Geralt is god damn weird, sure, but his weird somehow makes him hotter. Jaskier’s fucked. 

...

“What did Yennefer say to you?” 

“Well hello to you too, Dara, I’m doing very well, thank you.” Jaskier settles into place on Dara’s other side, Ciri already half a bowl deep in her chicken broth, sandwich crusts set aside by the bowl.

“Jaskier, come on.” Dara frowns deeply, looking - oh, that’s so nice, he’s worried. 

“Nothing I didn’t already know,” Jaskier puts a chicken leg on his plate and grabs a bowl of broth as well, Ciri’s having captured his interest. “That I’m a creep and Geralt won’t ever actually be my friend.” His eye catches on the slytherin table as Geralt seems to suddenly flinch and then turns to Yennefer, whispering furiously. Odd. He turns his eyes back to Dara as he takes a bite of his sandwich. 

Dara remains silent but his grip on his sandwich is tight enough that a tomato slice falls out, taking with it some lettuce and onion. 

“You must know that’s not true,” Ciri speaks up after yet another ambitious gulp of soup. “Geralt definitely thinks you’re his friend.” 

Jaskier flinches and looks away. “No, he thinks I’m his little sister’s friend, so he has to tolerate me for your sake.” 

Ciri shakes her head and looks at him like he’s short a marble. “You don’t usually let Yennefer get to you so easily,” 

“Yes, well, you hear something enough times and it starts to get through.” Jaskier sighs, placing his sandwich down. “How was class with the Ravenclaws?” 

Ciri smacks him over the back of his head and he gasps, grabbing his head as though she’d dealt a fatal blow. “Excuse you!” 

“You’re being dumb,” Ciri shrugs, takes her last spoonful of broth, and then slides across the bench until she’s pressed right up against his side, throwing her arms around his middle. “It’ll be cuddle time until you come to your senses again.” She tells him, in a matter of fact like tone, and Jaskier can’t help the tiny chuckle that escapes his lips.

“What if I’m still being dumb when it’s time to go to our next class?” 

“It’s Transfiguration with your house, so yes, I’ll continue cuddling you through that as well.” 

Jaskier can’t help the grin that lights his features as he gives in and sinks into her embrace, laughing when she releases one hand briefly to jerk Dara into the embrace as well, much to the other boy’s irritation, yet he allows Jaskier a light hug before hastily pulling away.


	2. said proceed with caution, but i won’t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier has an accident and can someone please just tell him what the fuck is going on with the Rivia family?

Jaskier stares at the broom in Ciri’s hand, then back at Ciri, then back at the broom. 

“You really want to?” He asks again, brows furrowed as he hopes that maybe, this time, she’ll come to her senses.

Ciri’s face does the thing. Merlin, he hates the thing. Her eyes go wide and doe like, her lip trembles and yes, Jaskier knows he’s being played but she just looks so sad!

“Alright!” He throws his arms up in surrender, “But if I fall to my untimely death just remember it was you who insisted on this.” 

Ciri absolutely beams. “Oh, Jask, we’re going to have so much fun!” 

Fun. Ha. He’d have more fun coming across another one of those drowner things without Geralt’s assistance this time, but sure. He’ll call it fun. 

“The things I do for you, princess.” He teases, watching as her face sours. 

“Oh please don’t,” She scowls, “I get enough of that at home. And from Geralt.” 

Jaskier snorts. The only time he sees Geralt do anything sweet, look at anyone with softness, is when he looks at Ciri, and without fail, every time, he calls her princess. Jaskier thinks their father must call her that too. 

“Sorry, your highness.” 

Ciri narrows her eyes.

“Your royal majesty?” Jaskier offers with a wink and a ridiculously deep bow, which only serves to make pushing him over into the dirt much easier for her. Yeah, he kind of set himself up for that one.

“Now, now,” He spits dirt from his mouth, “that is no way for a fair maiden to behave-“ He cuts himself off at the look on her face and looks away so she won’t see the smirk on his face. “Alright, lets get on the glorified firewood then.” 

She forgives him the second he says it, shoving a broom into his hand and kicking off without even waiting for him. 

He hates flying. He hates it with a passion. There’s just something so....so suffocating about having something you can only just fit in your hand and balance between your legs (which, by the way, not comfortable) keeping you between life and death. 

Maybe it’s a Muggleborn fear.

“Hurry up! I want to throw things at you!” Ciri calls, far too cheerily, and Jaskier feels sick as his broom rises up, up, up, until he’s hovering across from her. 

“Ciri, my darling.” He calls, voice embarrassingly shaky, “I don’t think I can do this after all.” 

Ciri’s face softens and then guilt washes over her features. 

“I’m sorry!” She calls back, and as she’s flying towards him he loses his grip and fuck, oh no, no no no no no- 

The world is a lot blurrier when you’re propelling towards the ground at unnatural speeds. Jaskier hears Ciri shriek his name and knows she’s swooping after him, but there’s no way she’ll catch him, she’s not a very good flyer herself after all. 

At least he won’t have to go home for the holidays, he thinks, somewhat hysterically, as the earth gets closer with each passing second. He shuts his eyes tightly just as something slams against his side and he goes hurtling across the freshly trimmed lawns, tangled up with whatever hit him.

He doesn’t open his eyes yet. He’s pretty sure he’s dead. He says as much, when someone gently prods at his arm, only to hear what can only be described as the loveliest, husky chuckle. 

“Jaskier,” The deep baritone calls to him, too familiar, and Jaskier finally forces his eyes open. His whole left side is screaming, his cheek is pounding and hot, and he probably has a concussion, but that is definitely Geralt leaning over him, hand on his chest. 

“Oh,” Jaskier says, and he sounds absolutely awful, like scraping nails against wood. There’s a wheezing there that can’t be good. “You look hot today.” 

There’s that laugh again, and then all of a sudden Ciri is falling on top of him, crying and apologising and declaring herself the worst friend in the world. well, he can’t have that, can he? 

“Good friend,” He manages to wheeze out, “Fav’rite friend. Love you.” 

“He needs Madam Pomfrey,” Geralt grunts, and then he’s - oh god, Jaskier really is dead, he’s dead and in heaven. Geralt is carrying him. He wants to savour it, but sleep is calling him and he can’t stop his eyes from closing. 

... 

He wakes up to soft sobbing, blearily blinking his eyes open. There’s a weight on his belly, and when he looks down he sees Ciri, sweet, kind Ciri, crying with her eyes shut. 

He feels a lot better than before, but there’s a dull ache in his bones and his throat is sore. 

“Cirilla?” 

Ciri lurches upwards so fast Jaskier can’t help but wonder if she’s dizzy, and then starts crying anew. 

“You told me! You told me you didn’t want to, but I made you, and it’s all my fault! You could have died! I’m so sorry, Jaskier, please forgive me,” 

Jaskier swallows past the lump in his throat and opens his arms. She falls into them softly, gentle, cautious. Afraid to hurt him, Jaskier figures as he runs his fingers through her hair. 

“I knew I couldn’t do it,” He tells her soothingly, “I should have said no.” 

“But I pressured you, and you did say no the first two times! I just thought...I thought you were nervous, or something. I didn’t know it would scare you. I’m so sorry.” 

Jaskier presses his chin down on the crown of Ciri’s head. “How about we blame no one, never do that again, and never speak of this again?” He offers, squeezing her tight. She nods against his neck.

“Yes please.” 

“Good. Glad that’s sorted. Now, am I insane or did your brother save me?” 

Ciri freezes and then pulls back, looking anywhere but at Jaskier. “I think you had a concussion. Geralt was in charms class, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier blinks. “But I could have sworn-“

“He wasn’t there.” Ciri says, a bit more firmly, and Jaskier narrows his eyes. He’s no fool, despite what people like to say, and Ciri is acting...strange, about this. 

“Then how did I survive?” He asks, quite reasonably, and Ciri bites her lip.

“Madam Pomfrey says you were very lucky.” 

“Did she now-“ 

“Ah! Awake then, Mr. Pankratz?” 

Speak of the devil. Jaskier gives her his brightest, most charming smile. 

“Thanks entirely to you, I’m sure!” He charms her, “I was just wondering who else to thank, for getting me here?” 

Madam Pomfrey pauses before smiling a little too tightly. “Ciri performed quite the commendable levitation spell to get you here. Now, let me check up on you properly young man.” 

As Pomfrey fusses over him Jaskier turns his heavy gaze on Ciri. She’s absolutely rubbish at levitation spells and they both know it, but she refuses to say a thing. Well then. He supposes they aren’t as close as he’d thought. It hurts much more than he thought it would, knowing she’s keeping something from him.

... 

He ditches Ciri on the way to lunch by sidestepping into an alcove as she and Dara are talking about how fucking stupid the daily prophet has gotten with its misinformation. He waits there until he can’t even hear a whisper of their voices before stepping out, smacking right into a very irate Yennefer. 

She stares at him, eyes glowing a vibrant purple - and how does she do that? Are they contacts? A glamour? There’s no way that’s natural -

“Jaskier, why is it that every time I see you you’re doing something irritating. Lurking in wait of Geralt, I assume?” She snarks, and Jaskier brushes her words off with a fake smile and the slightest straightening of his spine.

“Yennefer. Lovely bumping into you. Literally. Always a joy to be around, aren’t you?” 

She opens her mouth to snap back before something stops her in her tracks and her face sours, like she’s sucking on a spiked lemon drop. 

She scowls at him and stomps away, but he doesn’t miss the “Filthy mudblood pest.” That she hisses under her breath. 

He flinches involuntarily, still quite sensitive to that particular insult, but he can’t help but wonder why she left him alone so quickly. Usually they butt heads for quite a bit before she decides she’s done a good job of Jaskier bashing for the moment. This is unprecedented, and Jaskier is so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice he isn’t alone until someone clears their throat. 

He startles and looks up, only to meet the gaze of the exact person he had in fact been lurking in wait of. Yeah, okay, maybe Yennefer hadn’t been completely wrong.

“Geralt. You look nice today. I like the uh...” He waves his hand distractedly at the slytherin, trying to come up with a suitable compliment and struggling when too many come to mind. 

“You’re gesturing at all of me.” Geralt raises an eyebrow, expression stoic. “I’m walking you to breakfast before you manage to hurt yourself again.” 

Jaskier gapes, and without another word Geralt places a hand on the small of his back and gives a gentle push until he’s walking along with him. 

“I am actually quite capable of walking down a corridor,” Jaskier eventually says, although it unfortunately comes out quite whiny. Geralt makes a sound that could be a laugh or just a forceful release of air, and keeps pushing him forward. 

“Yet you can’t stay on a broom for more than a few seconds.” Geralt says, unaware of how hard those words hit Jaskier, his pride smarting and his heart pounding as he remembers the fall. “Fuck, sorry.” Geralt says quickly, as if he knows what Jaskier’s thinking. “That wasn’t your fault.” 

“And how would you know?” Jaskier can’t help but snap, because yes, he appreciates Geralt’s fantastic appearance and his strangely endearing terrible people skills, but he’s offended now and there’s no stopping him. 

Geralt side eyes him, and then looks away, the same way Ciri had in the hospital wing. What the fuck is wrong with this family? 

“Ciri told me what happened.” Geralt states, and it might’ve been believable, had he managed to actually look Jaskier in the eye. 

“No,” Jaskier pushes stubbornly, frustrated now. “You were there. I saw you.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stops in front of the great hall, looks back at Jaskier as if making a decision, and then starts manhandling him over to the wrong table. 

“I’m a hufflepuff you- you barbarian!” 

Geralt snorts and keeps pulling, until Jaskier is seated at Slytherin table, between Eskel and Geralt himself. And then, then! Geralt starts plating his breakfast for him, serving far more fruits and vegetables than Jaskier ever would. 

“Excuse me!” Jaskier knows he’s starting to sound a touch hysterical, but he’s at the wrong table, Yennefer is glaring at him from Geralt’s other side, Eskel is watching the whole thing as though it’s a telenovela, and Ciri is giving him a thumbs up from Gryffindor table. What. The actual. Fuck. 

“Eat.” Geralt says sharply, leaving no room for argument, and Jaskier sighs and picks up a fork, stabbing a carrot with all the rage he can muster up, shooting Geralt a meaningful glance. 

All that gets him is a smirk. God damn it. 

The fight melts from him at the sight and he ends up resigning himself to his fate and eating his food without another complaint, especially since Yennefer seems to be almost vibrating with anger and indignation and he doesn’t really want to provoke her. 

After lunch Geralt just gets up and leaves, as if he wasn’t the whole reason Jaskier was sitting here in the first place. Jaskier scrambles to his feet almost immediately, making a quick and very dignified escape, thank you very much. 

He grabs Ciri by the arm on his way out and pulls her to the side.

“What the hell just happened?” 

Ciri just smiles at him, looking genuinely pleased. “I told you you’re friends. Was that really not proof enough for you?” 

Jaskier wants to scream. “No! That was, that was weird! And intimidating! And when he smiles my heart sings!” He even says the last part with anger, ignoring Ciri’s widening smile. “No warning! I had no warning at all!” 

“Yeah, Geralt’s more of an action over words kind of person.” She shrugs one shoulder. As if all of this is normal. As if Jaskier’s the one whose acting like a madman. 

“One of these days, you’re going to give me a proper explanation.” He grumbles, surprised when she nods.

“Yes, one day. But we really should be getting to Care of Magical Creatures now.” 

He hates that she’s right.

“You’re lucky I love you so much, dear Ciri.”


	3. no more phases, no more time to waste it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier braids hair and overshares a lil bit. Geralt tries to do a thing. The keyword here is tries.

Jaskier’s fingers move methodically, slipping and tugging and carefully adjusting long silken strands, only pausing occasionally to accept a flower that Dara will pass over for him to weave into the intricate pattern. His eyebrows are furrowed and his focus solely on the next pull, the next tug, the next loop, until finally he’s done. 

He sits back to admire his work and can’t help the wave of satisfaction that washes over him. Her hair looks like something from a fairytale, and for all their joking, in this moment she truly does look the part of a princess. He loves creating beautiful things, almost as much as he loves composing a successful song, and Ciri knows as much as she admires it in the mirror Dara pops up with, to show her the back. 

Ciri lets out a happy squeal and turns far enough to clamber into his lap and give him a tight squeeze. 

“It’s beautiful. You always make me feel so beautiful.” She says, sincerity dripping from each word. “Every time I look at it throughout the day I will be reminded of the time you took to do this for me, and the strength of our bond.” 

Jaskier flushes red, flustered, and tries to wave off her praises.

“It’s nothing, my sister taught me.” He says, as nonchalantly as he can, but he knows she catches the glimpse of melancholy in his gaze. 

“I know I will never replace her.” She says solemly, “but I know she would be proud that you’ve continued the tradition.” 

He doesn’t tear up, but he does give her a slightly wavering smile. “Thank you, Ciri.” 

Dara places a hand on his arm and squeezes, the best he ever really manages at comfort, and it is at that moment when Geralt enters the library and sees his artwork in Ciri’s hair.

“You look as beautiful as ever, Princess.” Geralt tells her, never one to hold back with praise when it comes to his sister. “Jaskier did a fine job.” 

And its that comment that pings the most ridiculously bad of ideas in Jaskier’s head, and he turns, prepares himself for rejection and offers softly, “I wouldn’t mind tending your hair too, Geralt. I find the emptiness of my hands after working at it unnerving, at best.” 

There’s a heavy silence in the air as Yennefer glares Geralt down, before groaning as Geralt nods, silent as he comes to take Ciri’s seat. 

“Just don’t make me look a fool.” He grumbles, but Jaskier can feel his heart racing and with light, bouncing feet he eagerly reaches for a brush and turns to Dara hopefully. 

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of doing that yourself,” Jaskier cheeks, and turns away before Geralt can respond. “Flowers left over?” He asks, and Dara rolls his eyes.

“You made me pick them for hours, Jaskier. There’s enough for days.” 

Jaskier’s smile is bright and with eager fingers he pushes the comb gently through Geralt’s beautiful silver hair, from the bottom up as to avoid any knots. He doesn’t want this to be a negative experience for either of them. 

After a while of combing, Geralt’s tense shoulders slump and he leans back a bit, much to Jaskier’s pleased surprise. He takes much smaller pieces than he had with Ciri, twining delicate forget-me-nots into each piece, before starting in on twisting the sides into something intricate, something with more meaning than Jaskier would like to address, all with the other three watching with a mix of curiosity and disgust. Disgust, obviously on Yennefer’s part, but she also looks intrigued, if Jaskier isn’t mistaken. 

He takes his time with Geralt, something about being allowed this privilege of intimacy feeling special, feeling private despite having an audience. If he’s not mistaken, Geralt seems to feel it too. On a split second decision, Jaskier finishes the braid with several dandelions twisted in at the bottom, a small and secret declaration that probably nobody would notice. Well, apart from Cirilla, who is watching with knowing eyes. When he’s finished, he’s reluctant to pull away, but he does so with a fake smile and a hopeful gaze as Geralt inspects his hair in the mirror. 

His worry is for naught though, as Geralt grins, a real one, and turns to meet his eyes. “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier’s sure his face is red if not purple at the praise, and he just nods, knowing if he speaks his voice will crack and squeak.

That’s when Yennefer lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“You can’t just do everyone’s hair but mine, and after all, I have the most hair to work with. Come on then, mud-Jaskier, be fair.” He catches what she’d been about to say, but he’d also captured the sharp look Geralt had sent her way that cut her off. 

Strange. 

Well, in the name of house unity, he supposes, and gestures for her to take a seat. 

“Do we have white violets?” Jaskier asks Dara softly, and receives an understanding nod in return. He takes one at a time, threading them through an intricate fishtail braid carefully, gentle as he can be, because he worries one wrong step might irritate Yennefer, but when it’s finished she takes one glance and nods her approval.

“It’s acceptable,” She says, despite the tiny smile on her face that Jaskier will always consider a victory. 

Ciri’s own hair is riddled with ambrosia, dainty azaleas, a white camelia tucked behind her ear with a bobby pin. 

Flowers and their meanings had always meant a lot to Jaskier, ever since his sister had been lost to him for the last time. 

There’s something in the air after that, something that shifts, and Yennefer isn’t looking at him like a bug under her shoe anymore as the two sit down with the trio, taking out their books. 

Seemingly uncaring of their extra guests, or perhaps even because of their extra guests, Ciri leans in close and asks the question Jaskier has been expecting but dreading,

“Your owl this morning, it was from your father, wasn’t it?” 

Jaskier flinches but nods, hoping that will be all she requires in answer, but instead she softens even more. 

“What did he want from you this time?” 

Jaskier snorts. “A competent son, I imagine.” He hadn’t actually read this one, not after the last one. He’d rather face his punishment than deem his father the pleasure of ruining his week once more. “One who doesn’t waste his time with music and Wizarding fashion.” 

“He asks too much of you.” Dara breaks his own silence to reassure, quill still moving at an even pass over his assigned 6 inches for Herbology. “You could live with me, if you can’t escape him.” 

Jaskier blinks in surprise as warmth fills his chest. “That’s ever so kind, but this is just how my life is to be.” He knows how defeated he sounds but he can’t help it, this is his future and there’s no use fighting it. He’ll be trained after school and one day run the company. The board won’t care about the magic thrumming in his veins, or the pain in his eyes. They won’t care how uninterested in running a company he is, they just need a figure head. He knows that, but it still hurts. 

“Hm.” Geralt’s gaze darts between the three of them calculatingly, before folding his arms over his chest. “If you’re in trouble, McGonagall will help you.” He says, as though speaking from experience, but he doesn’t think he could stand coming before her and admitting the truth about what goes on behind closed doors in the Pankratz manor. Muggle or not, she’d know that people had it way worse than him. Besides, somewhere deep down, he still holds love for his father. Whether because he is his last living relative, or because his love is fuelled by the fear that Tulipè’s accident might befall him as well, ending their relationship on bad terms that he can never repair. 

“He’s right, you know,” Yennefer says after a moment of incredibly creepy instense staring. “You should speak to McGonagall.” 

He doesn’t know why of all people, they’re recommending the head of Gryffindor house above their own, but he’s sure there’s probably a good reason. 

“I’m late to meet a friend.” Jaskier mutters, gathering his things hastily, ignoring Ciri’s call echoing through the library as she declared that they were his only friends. 

He just needs to be alone, he can’t breathe in here. 

Dara finds him after only a few minutes, where he’s situated himself In front of the Great Lake, watching as the giant squid randomly smacks at the surface of the water. 

There’s silence between them for a long time. 

“Tulipè would want you to take their advice.” Dara states simply, not emotionally but not entirely unaffected either, and Jaskier is reminded that Dara actually had met Tulipè a few times before her death. 

“Tulipè isn’t here.” Jaskier states coldly. 

“Exactly.” Dara sighs. “The last thing she did before she died was try to help you. Don’t throw that in her face.” And with that said, Dara stands and walks away without a word, leaving Jaskier to ruminate in his thoughts for far longer than healthy. 

With a sigh, he gathers himself up enough to start back up the hill. He spots Geralt at the top in seconds, and can’t help but change his intended path to move closer to the boy, who looks at him with what others would say no expression, but what Jaskier has learned is as close as the boy looks to concerned. 

“Are you in danger at home, Jaskier?” Geralt asks, straight to the point, and Jaskier offers him a shaky smile. 

“I’ve managed this far, Geralt. I’ll be fine.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” Geralt frowns deeply, arms crossed tightly across his broad chest. 

“I’m not in danger,” Jaskier sighs eventually, and moves to sit down on the hill, pulling his feet up. “I’m just sad.” 

“Hm.” Geralt, the same Geralt that’s all rough touch and social ineptitude, sits beside him, stretching out to allow his massive limbs space. 

Jaskier isn’t sure what possesses him to do it, but he’s starting to get anxious sitting here in silence, Geralt’s presence is stifling, and then he’s opening his mouth.

“He smashed my lute over the holidays. For the best of course, the future owner of a Fortune 500 company has no business dabbling in the arts.” Even as he says it Jaskier knows that wasn’t the real reason. His father had been angry, so angry, when he’d composed and sung a song about loving a man- that had been the end of his closest companion, his lute. 

Geralt doesn’t speak but Jaskier can feel his gaze as he continues, the words forcing their way out of his mouth as though he’s been dosed with something to loosen the tongue. 

“I’ve had that lute since I was a child. It was a gift from my mother. I always thought, no matter how much he hates me, he’d never break something that once belonged to her.”   
Jaskier shakes his head, he’s over sharing, he’s taking this way too far and he knows it. “Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll see you later, perhaps.” He stands and gives Geralt a forced smile, but the older boy isn’t even looking at him, stuck deep in thought, and isn’t that typical? 

Even when Jaskier talks about something that matters, no one wants to hear it. Especially not Geralt. He really needs to find a way to get over this stupid crush, as it’s never going to go anywhere. 

He walks away and purposefully doesn’t look back, heading directly for his dorm, and collapsing into bed. As he closes his eyes he hears soft footsteps, and then Dara is tugging his blanket up and tucking him in gently. 

...

It’s at breakfast the next morning, during which he is putting all the effort he can into not looking at Slytherin table, despite the fact that Geralt had once again attempted to drag him over there. This time he’d simply shaken him off, and Geralt, in his surprise, had let him. 

So now he sits with Dara and then Ciri on his left, sulkily stirring at his bland porridge. He hadn’t felt much like indulging this morning, his heart still aching at Geralt’s show of indifference the day before. Ciri keeps trying to get his attention but he just gives her one line, generic answers, before turning back to his meal. 

He hopes this particular heartbreak is easy to get over. 

The owls fly in and Jaskier can already spot his own owl, carrying another letter branded with his Father’s seal, and resigns himself to another hit to his self esteem as he takes it and feeds a blueberry to Barker. The owl preens and nuzzles his hand before flying off, knowing well enough that there wouldn’t be a response any time soon. 

He hesitates before opening the letter, ignoring Ciri and Dara’s heavy, concerned gaze, and takes in the words written before him. 

It’s much of the same really, but it still stabs at him. Especially the part where his Father reminds him he’s to have a girlfriend by the time he comes home for the holidays. 

He closes his eyes and rubs at the bridge of his nose, jerking when he hears a much louder thud in front of him, knocking his bowl aside and landing directly in the fruit bowl. 

What?! 

The package is wrapped in warm brown paper and tied with a simple black string, but his name is written in large block letters across the front. 

Jaskier blinks. 

“Open it!” Ciri urges, her pity having morphed into excitement. “Jaskier, come on!” 

Dara just looks between them like they’re both utterly mad. 

Jaskier tentatively reaches out and tugs at the string, coming loose all too easily, and unfolds the paper until he sees- 

Oh. Oh, fuck.

His eyes burn as he takes in the instrument, the gold accents, his name engraved above the strings, the cherry wood that brings it all together. 

He swallows hard, chest tight and shit, why does this hurt so much? It’s a gift, it shouldn’t make him want to cry. It’s exactly what he wanted, but it’s not...it’s not his mother’s lute, and that’s all he can think, despite the kindness of the gesture. 

He pushes himself to his feet, and takes the lute in his arms. How does it feel so right in his arms, when it isn’t hers? 

“Oh, no.” Ciri whispers quietly, and stands herself. “Jaskier, are you okay?”

“No. No, my darling, I’m not.” Jaskier blinks away tears. “If you’ll excuse me, I need a moment.” 

He misses Yennefer’s look of confusion, the stricken expression on Geralt’s face, and Ciri’s crumpling eyes. He walks, and he walks, until he finds an empty corridor in the seventh floor. 

The room is ready for him of course, opening up to reveal a room with beanbags instead of chairs, soft, puffy rugs, template sheet music laid out with a pen rather than a quill. 

He sits and pulls the muggle photograph of his mother from his trousers. He stares at her for a long time, heart aching. Her smile is beautiful, red lipped and lovely, cornflower blue eyes filled with amusement and blonde hair pulled back in a braid as she holds a much younger Jaskier and Tulipè in her arms, her two children both sharing those same eyes. 

She would have wanted him to accept this, he realises. She would have done anything to keep them happy. Yet, it feels like a betrayal to replace his most treasured gift from her. 

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts he doesn’t spare a single one to who might have been his gift giver.


	4. knee deep in salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE BIG REVEAL Y’ALL

t’s Yennefer who stands outside Jaskier’s classroom in wait, as Jaskier thanks McGonagall for her notes on his work and politely declines her offer of extra lessons on the side. She tells him he’s gifted, but what are gifts worth when he’ll never be allowed to use them once he leaves this wonderful world of magic? 

She reaches out and grips his elbow as he strides through the door, startling him so badly that he lets out a very undignified shriek. She gasps and slaps a hand over his mouth, incredulous.

“I barely touched you,” She says sharply, eyes hard. “So could you kindly shut up?” 

Jaskier blinks wide eyes at her until she deems it safe to remove her hand.

“Release me or I shall....I shall hex you! It’ll be a very nasty one too!” 

Unfortunately this just amuses her, but she does let his arm go. “I’ve been told to...be friendly with you.” She says the words like they leave a sour taste in her mouth, still glowering down at him and he raises an eyebrow.

“And this is you...making nice?” He asks dubiously, because she had literally just grabbed him and yanked him around. Not the nicest of gestures, if you ask him.

“It’s as nice as you’re getting, imbecile.” She hisses.

“Great start, Yennefer, truly. I’ll be on my way then.” He turns to leave and she lets out a long groan and grabs him again, gentler this time.

“Look, he thought you would like it. He didn’t want to upset you.” 

Jaskier stops in place and then looks up at her, squinting. “What are you talking about?” 

She rolls her eyes so hard Jaskier worries for her head, that certainly looked migraine inducing. “Salazar, Jaskier, what the fuck do you think I’m talking about? That ridiculous lute he had made for you. He was trying to make you happy, and now he’s miserable because you hated it, so you need to fix it. Now, preferably.” 

It takes Jaskier a moment to process all of that, before he’s shrugging her off and glaring at her. “I don’t have to do anything, actually,” he says, even though he’s already plotting the route to slytherin common room and trying to figure out which slytherin is the least likely to hate him and most willing to allow him inside. Of course it was Geralt, the only other person who knows is Ciri, and she spends all her income on sweets. He’s going to give Geralt a great big hug, which Geralt will graciously accept, and then thank him several hundred times until he’s not miserable anymore. Yes, it’s a good plan. 

Yennefer scowls. “Fine, I didn’t realise how cruel you could be.” She snaps, and with that said does her usual ridiculous swagger away. Merlin help whoever ends up with her. 

In case this is some sort of trick and she’s monitoring him, he slinks down to Slytherin as sneakily as he can (Which is admittedly, not very sneaky at all and involves a lot of awkward hiding and tip toeing) until he arrives in front of the portrait. The elderly wizard sneers down at him and asks for the password in a tone that implies he expects Jaskier to be wrong. Which is right, but still. 

Jaskier just stands there, awkwardly, until he hears a sniff from behind him. 

Chireadan nods at him and gives the password, pushing him through as the portrait gives way. “I’m doing this for Dara, not you,” he mutters, before stalking away to one of the sofas. 

Right. So. He’s inside. He hadn’t actually thought he’d make it this far, but he has, so he supposes the next step would be to find Geralt. Probably in his room, right? 

Jaskier heads up the stairs and peers into the dorm, finding it entirely barren. Well, shit. He could leave, but then he’d have to start over and honestly, Geralt has to come here at some point, so he finds himself snoopi-exploring. There’s a bed he can easily identify as Chireadan’s, a very expensive potions kit sitting on the bedside table, the familiar scrawl on his paperwork beside it. He can’t figure out who most of the other beds belong to, though he knows who else must share this room, Eskel certainly, Lambert as well, the asshole, and then- yeah. There it is. 

There’s a magical photograph on the bedside table, Geralt and Ciri standing together, Ciri whispers something in Geralt’s ear and he laughs, and if that isn’t the most beautiful thing Jaskier’s ever seen. He could sing the most romantic ballads about that laugh alone. 

Almost as if a force is tugging him forward, he moves to stand in front of the bed beside it. The curtains are black, unlike the other greens and silvers surrounding the other beds. He pulls them back curiously and pauses at the sight of the bedspread, a beautiful pale blue, and so unexpected. He’s still staring at it when the door opens again and Geralt and Lambert step through. He freezes, awkwardly shifting in place. He really should not be here, and definitely not stroking Geralt’s curtains, of all things. 

Merlin, he’s a mess.

“Ah, your stalker has upped his game. I’d start checking your drinks for love potions, Geralt.” Lambert laughs, and Jaskier shrinks in on himself, because well, he can’t really argue with that. This is weird, he’s done something weird, and he has no good explanation.

Geralt’s expression is blank and Jaskier is really starting to rethink his entire existence when Geralt shoves an elbow so hard into Lambert’s gut that he doubles over, coughing.

“Fuck! What the fuck was that for?!” Lambert curses, looking at his friend angrily. 

“Give me a moment with him.” Geralt says simply, and Lambert does exactly that, grumbling and grunting as he leaves the room. 

“Fucking nutcase,” are his last words before he disappears. And then there’s silence. Awful, tense silence.

“Thank you for the lute.” Jaskier finally finds his voice, and Geralt nods his acknowledgement as he pushes his curtains the rest of the way back so he can sit comfortably on his bed. When Jaskier makes no move to join him, he grunts and pushes him down, hard enough that Jaskier falls onto his back across the mattress beside him. 

“You didn’t like it.” Geralt states, ignoring Jaskier’s prone figure beside him. 

“I didn’t expect it,” Jaskier corrects quickly, pushing himself up on his elbows. “It was very thoughtful. Kind. It just...made me feel a bit sad.” 

“It wasn’t meant to make you sad.” Geralt grunts, refusing to look at him, and no, that won’t do at all. Jaskier’s reaching out before he can think better of it, hands pressed to Geralt’s cheeks as he turns his head. 

Oh Merlin, those eyes. They’re blazing in their intensity, and Jaskier loses his train of thought for a second before he takes a steadying breath. “I will use it every day, Geralt. It’s beautiful.” 

Geralt’s features soften just the tiniest bit, and Jaskier beams. He’s winning. At what, he doesn’t know, but he’s definitely breaking through whatever shield Geralt had built up between them. 

“You needed one. I got you one. That’s all.” 

“You got it for me because you like me. Lucky for you, I’m rather fond of you myself.” Jaskier smiles softly, pleased when Geralt leans into his hands, probably without even realising he’s doing it. 

“It’s just a lute.” Geralt tries, but Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Geralt, you had it engraved.” 

“Hm.” Geralt pulls away and opens the drawer to his bedside table. “Here.” 

Jaskier looks at Geralt’s outstretched hand, dumbfounded. “Er, thank you?” He takes the tiny silver blade from Geralt’s palm, baffled. “What exactly is this for?” 

“Just take the damn dagger, Jaskier.” Geralt scowls, and so Jaskier does, nodding, and hopes he’s hiding his confusion well enough. “Keep it in your boot. You never know when you might need it.” 

“Right, because my wand isn’t protection enough.” Jaskier says bluntly, though he winces at Geralt’s furious expression and quickly changes his tune. “But I shall carry it with me anyway!” 

Geralt looks satisfied with that, and reaches out to lay a hand on Jaskier’s arm. 

“Stay inside for a few nights. It’s a dangerous time of the month.” He warns, grip warm and hands rough with callouses that don’t match with wielding a wand and it sets every inch of Jaskier on fire. He barely registers the older boy’s words, but manages a dazed nod.

“Inside, dangerous, got it.” He half slurs, almost touch drunk just from this. 

Geralt smiles then, something soft and secretive, and Jaskier can feel his heart stutter. “Sit with me at dinner tonight.” He demands, rather than asks. Jaskier just nods, and Geralt squeezes his arm one last time before pulling away. “You should go now, I need to rest for a few hours.” 

...

“Um, Jask, I don’t mean to upset you or anything but you look...you look like you’re not with us.” Ciri’s voice is tentative and Jaskier snaps out of his daydream, in which there had been a lot more touching and a lot less clothing, flushing a vibrant red when his eyes land on the subject of his wandering thought’s sister. 

“Ah, yes, I’m ever so sorry. Creating a wildly successful little jingle in my head.” He lies quickly, with a bright smile. And oh, what a successful ‘jingle’ it had been. At least in theory. 

Dara rolls his eyes and flips to the next page rather aggressively. They’re meant to be doing a group project for charms, Flitwick moving slowly between tables to examine each group’s progress. 

The group beside them, Essi, Triss and Renfri seem to be focused and blazing through the project far more efficiently than Jaskier’s group. Probably the reason for Dara’s irritation. He’s probably wishing he was in their group instead, but each group had to have a ratio of 1:2 Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, and if Essi had been switched with Dara, Triss and Renfri would’ve been spending far more time bemoaning the loss of their friend. 

But then Dara opens his mouth and shatters it all. “He spent the morning free period with Geralt.” 

Jaskier groans. “We were just talking, we’re friends, remember?” 

Dara snorts. “Friends.” He says, as though it’s a dirty word. 

Ciri, however, lights up. “Oh that’s wonderful!” She beams. “Did you thank him for the lute? It was really hard to get one that impressive on such short notice and he was so proud of it.” 

He knew it. There was no way the lute had been but a casual gift. 

“I did, in fact. He gave me a dagger too, for some strange reason. Geralt really is a strange one,” He muses, feeling rather pleased to know Geralt cared enough to do such lovely, if odd, things for him. 

Ciri and Dara both freeze. 

“He gave you a dagger?” Ciri asks, voice uncharacteristically soft and cautious. 

“Yes? It’s very pretty, though I don’t see myself ever actually using it.” Jaskier admits, blushing. “He’s actually very sweet, once you get past the whole, tall, severe, angry thing he has going on.” 

“I know that,” Ciri says sharply, “but the dagger, what did it look like?” 

“I can show you,” Jaskier shrugs, reaching into his boot and tugging it out of place to lay it on the table in front of her. Ciri and Dara both panic instantly, Dara slipping the blade under the table before anyone else can catch a glimpse. 

“Merlin, Jask, you can’t just- oh, this is so stupid. He’s so stupid. Why can’t he just talk about things, like everyone else?” Ciri whines prettily.

“I feel as though I am definitely missing something here,” Jaskier pouts, “What’s got you two in such a strop over a little knife?” 

“It’s not a ‘little knife’.” Dara scowls, “And you should make him take it back.” 

Ciri smacks Dara’s arm. “No, you shouldn’t. That would be a massive insult, and it’s not like he’s got Jaskier’s intentions wrong, has he?” 

Jaskier lets his face fall to the table in defeat. Why is it that everyone else seems to have some secret that he isn’t in on this year? 

“He doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to!” Dara argues, and Jaskier has had enough. 

He packs up his bags and storms out of the classroom, ignoring Flitwick calling his name and forgetting the dagger altogether. He’s sick of people keeping things from him, sick of being treated like some sort of- some sort of afterthought. He slams into Yennefer half way through the corridor but doesn’t stop to exchange harsh words this time, just continues on at his furious pace until he gets to the astronomy tower. He throws his books down and settles on the stone floor, using his outer robes as a cushion for his head as he lays back and tries to calm down.

He doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until he’s waking up, back aching and neck sore from sleeping on hard stone in a poor position. 

He pushes himself up, somehow still feeling just as grumpy as he gathers his things and pulls his robes back on, glancing absent mindedly out over the grounds when he sees him. 

That’s when the fury builds to boiling point, because that tiny figure heading across the grounds, crowned by the setting sun, is Geralt, the absolute fucking hypocrite. 

Well, Jaskier isn’t going to let this one slide.   
He takes the stairs two at a time as he abandons his books and bounds downwards until he reaches the great big doors that lead outside, and then he’s running, running far faster than his weak lungs can support. 

Geralt seems to notice his presence before Jaskier even reaches him, and he turns on his heel, rage waging a war across his features.

“Damn it, Jaskier! I told you to stay inside!” He shouts, voice dripping with fury. Jaskier takes a shocked step backwards, before his own rage returns with a vengeance.

“Oh, so you can do whatever you like but you think you can dictate my life? That’s rich, Geralt, truly!” He’s yelling too, now, and it’s invigorating, his blood singing in his veins. It feels good to let it out, but Geralt’s eyes widen as he looks at something above Jaskier’s head and then turns back to the hufflepuff with an expression that must be the closest Geralt could ever get to panic.

“Get out the dagger!” He orders urgently, and Jaskier feels his heart sink in his chest as he realises that he doesn’t actually have it right now, and that Geralt must be asking for it back.

“You see, the thing is, I don’t actually have it right now?” Jaskier admits with a wince, “I think Dara still does?” 

“Fuck.” Geralt begins to pace, “why the fuck- it doesn’t matter. You need to run, then, Jaskier. As fast as you fucking can.” 

Jaskier scowls, “Dont tell me what to-“ the Moon is rising above them and Geralt’s whole body jerks, a harsh snap echoing in the empty clearing, and that’s when Jaskier realises he can’t hear a single thing. Not a bird song, not a cricket, nothing. 

“Run!” Geralt shouts at him again, but this time it’s through bared fangs and holy fuck, holy shit, what the fuck- 

Hands grab Jaskier’s shoulders and he’s thrown backwards, falling from the woods through a portal and landing hard on his back into the prefects bathroom, Yennefer standing over him with her hands raised and enough fury to give a Horntail a run for its money.


	5. thumb on the side of the roadway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yennefer is a reluctant Savior, Dara’s kinda a bitch, and Geralt is c o n f u s i o n

“I am constantly astounded by the limitless stupidity you show,” Yennefer growls, hands shaking - probably from maintaining such powerful magic. He knows she’s talented, but he had no idea how much before now.

“You just saved my life.” Jaskier says dumbly, staring at her in shock. “You just saved my life, because Geralt was going to eat me. Oh, Merlin, what even is my life.” Jaskier whines and lets his head fall back against the tile with a thud. “What the fuck.” 

Yennefer must take pity on him, as pathetic as he looks, because she reaches up and with surprisingly gentle hands, lifts him back into a sitting position.

“Yes, I saved your life.” She agrees haughtily, “though I really should’ve let Geralt rip you apart, it would’ve solved a lot of problems.” 

Jaskier gasps at her, indignant. “That’s extremely nasty!” He manages to get out after a few moments of just opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. “But you didn’t, so I suppose I’ll let that go.” 

He rubs the back of his head for a moment as his thoughts race. So, the white wolf was exactly that. He shouldn’t laugh, but a startled giggle escapes his lips, oh, how obvious it had been- 

“You’ve gone insane. Great, this is just what I needed today.” Yennefer drawls bitterly. 

“Oh ho, no, not insane, just wondering how I could be so stupid,” Jaskier disagrees, but he’s still giggling. “He’s a werewolf. Everyone literally calls him the white wolf, and I never even guessed. Merlin.” 

Yennefer seems to give up on trying to get him to his feet and kneels in front of him. “Just stay still, I’m going to heal your head. There’s clearly something wrong with you if you’re not screaming or crying.” 

He swats her hands away, quickly sobering. “I’m not screaming or crying because I know Geralt would never have hurt me on purpose, thank you very much. He did try to warn me, after all.” 

Yennefer analyses him carefully for a moment before sitting back on her heels. 

“You really are peculiar. Maybe the two of you truly are meant for each other. How annoying.” She complains, and they both glance towards the window at the sound of a pained howl. “I don’t think he made it quite as far into the woods as he should have thanks to you. I had better go and make sure he doesn’t do any harm. You’ll stay in the castle and for once, keep out of trouble.” She tells him sharply, leaving no room for argument, so he just nods and finally pushes himself up on his feet.

“Well, thanks for the save, Yennefer, ever so kind of you.” He grins, and to his surprise, she smacks his shoulder and pushes him, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face. 

“Just fuck off, hufflepuff.” 

...

It’s too late at night to be sneaking into Gryffindor tower, so he realises he shall have to settle for a night in and a very intense interrogation in the morning, but for the time being, he grabs for his new lute and settles before the fire in the common room, cheerfully strumming until the words come to him for a song about a white wolf hiding in plain sight. An absolute banger, he thinks when he’s done. 

...

“So,” Jaskier opens the breakfast conversation while his two companions grumble and try to finish waking up. 

Jaskier himself is burning with energy, has been bouncing with it since waking. Now Is the part where he finally gets what he wants.

Ciri’s still stirring yet another spoonful of sugar into her porridge but Dara looks back at him expectantly.

“I’d like my dagger back, thank you, I’ve found I might need it quite a lot more than I initially thought I would.” 

Dara looks at him with something akin to suspicion, but fumbles through his robes pockets until he finds the object, passing it over without complaint. “I was going to return it to you when I saw you next anyway.” 

“Well, thanks. Now, Cirilla, my love, why didn’t you tell me your brother has fangs and claws once a month?” 

Ciri chokes on her porridge and spits it out so aggressively it lands on her hand and the table as well. His job here done, Jaskier smiles brightly at her and gets to his feet, giving a tiny wave even as Ciri tries to gasp air back into her lungs and swivels around, taking purposeful strides until he is seated next to Yennefer. She eyes him warily.

“Yennefer.” He greets cheerily.

“Imbecile.” She acknowledges, but doesn’t tell him outright to fuck off, so he settles in for breakfast, ignoring his friends incredulous looks. 

“Could you pass me the pumpkin juice?” 

“Is there something wrong with your arms?” Yennefer snarks, even as Eskel chuckles at their antics and holds the pumpkin juice out to Jaskier from Yen’s other side. Jaskier reaches over and takes it, offering the dark haired boy a tentative smile, and goes back to happily ignoring his problems and imposing himself upon Yennefer.

“Lovely weather we’re having.” He muses, as Yennefer’s scowl deepens.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for one of your friends,” She says sharply, and Jaskier hums.

“No mistake,” He says clearly, without even looking at her, which only seems to fuel her fire. 

“Oh Salazar, if you don’t-“

“If he doesn’t what, Yen?” Geralt asks from behind them, and both Jaskier and Yennefer jump at his sudden presence. He looks weary, worn down, and almost...sad? No, that’s silly. Jaskier grins and grabs his hand, yanking him down and shoving Chireadan down the bench to make room for him. Chireadan gives him the dirtiest of looks but accepts his fate, sliding his breakfast along with him.

“Yennefer was just telling me how wonderful I am,” Jaskier cheeks, winking at the witch and getting a rather rude gesture in response. “I’m glad you’re finally up though, didn’t figure you one for oversleeping. How are you supposed to scare the first years if you’re not even in the room!” Jaskier giggles to himself as Geralt looks at him as though he’s grown two heads. 

“I...Jaskier-“ 

“Besides, I was getting lonely over here without you, Yennefer, lovely as she is, hasn’t been the most hospitable of hosts.”

“Jaskier-“

“And after all, I missed dinner with you last night, so it only made sense to wait for you at breakfast this morning.”

“Damn it, Jaskier!” 

Jaskier goes still, looks up at Geralt finally and sees that the older boy looks pale, angry but with an undercurrent of what can’t possibly be guilt. Maybe, just this once, it really is best he keep his mouth shut. 

“We both know what happened last night.” Geralt says sharply, “Why are you pretending it didn’t?” 

Jaskier softens, heart heavy in his chest. “I’m not. Obviously a lot of things make more sense now, and I do have questions, but you...you wanted me around before last night, didn’t you?” 

Geralt nods cautiously, a frown furrowing his brows. 

“Do you still?” 

Geralt nods again, and Jaskier allows relief to rush through his body.

“Well, that settles it. You’re stuck with me, White Wolf. Hey! Don’t you think it’s a bit obvious to let everyone call you that? Ah, doesn’t matter, hiding in plain sight seems to work for you.” Jaskier nudges his empty plate hopefully, and Yennefer snorts at the attempt of nonchalance even as Geralt eagerly takes it and starts serving Jaskier’s breakfast like its his job. 

...

Ciri and Dara practically pounce on him in first period charms, as everyone is falling back into their allocated groups for the project. 

“How did you find out?” Ciri whisper-yells, and Dara gives her a hard look. She winces and continues at a volume much closer to an actual whisper, “Did he tell you?” 

“He nearly ate me, actually.” Jaskier says casually, as he circles a passage in their essay that needs to be re written if it’s going to make any semblance of sense. 

“What?!” 

“Cirilla!” Dara hisses, and Ciri goes quiet again . “What do you mean he nearly ate you?” 

“Well, he told me to run, and then he grew great big chompers and came right at me.” Jaskier shrugs, finding the whole thing somewhat amusing in hindsight.

“But I had your dagger, how the hell did you survive?” Dara asks, confusion scrunching his nose.

“Yennefer shoved me through a portal. Nice girl, that.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s ever referred to Yennefer as nice,” Ciri grins, “but I knew she liked you, deep down. I can tell these things.” 

“Yesterday you said if Jaskier annoyed Yennefer one more time she might curse him.” Dara drawls blandly. Ciri shoulders him. 

“Yes, but her heart wouldn’t be in it.”

“You’re full of -“ 

“Perhaps we might actually work on our project today?” Jaskier suggests lightly, before the two of them devolve into useless bickering and he’s forced to do the project alone. 

The others agree, though they look far from happy about it. Ciri keeps sneaking him looks and Dara is being so forceful with his textbooks Jaskier thinks he might accidentally rip a page soon, which to Dara, would be a horrific event. 

They’re almost done when Jaskier decides he’s tortured them long enough.

“Okay, so the white wolf is exactly that. Want to explain the dagger to me now?” 

Dara continues to ignore him but Ciri nods, attempting to look serious which on Ciri just looks cute. No wonder half of the fifth years have a crush on her. 

“It’s linked to him, Yennefer and Tissaia helped create it last year, whoever holds it is safe from him each full moon. But once it was made he refused to give it to anyone. Said it held too much power over him if it somehow got misplaced or put in the wrong hands.” 

Jaskier blinks, “That’s a lot to unpack. Tissaia the Ravenclaw? The one that I have literally never seen even once interact with Geralt?” 

“She and Yennefer are cousins.” Ciri shrugs. “Apparently they’re quite close, not that you’d know it by watching them interact here.” 

“Okay.” Jaskier squints as his brain tries to find literally any resemblance between Yennefer and Tissaia and comes up empty, “But they-“

“Yennefer is adopted. Her birth parents weren’t the kindest of people. Luckily the Vengerbergs’ were barren and desperate for a child.” Ciri explains, knowing exactly what he’d been about to ask. Clever girl. 

“And the dagger, how does it...hold power, over him?” 

Dara finally slams his book down and joins the conversation with a simple, “it’s basically mind control, Jaskier, and it’s sick.” 

Jaskier blanches. “Mind control?”

“That’s putting it a bit harsher than it is,” Ciri complains, frowning. “It just makes the wolf more suggestible. Y’know, like, ‘please don’t eat that rabbit’ and then he wouldn’t, that’s all.” 

“Yes, if used the way it’s intended.” Dara points out quietly, and then looks back at Jaskier. “You didn’t even know what it was or what it was capable of. You could’ve told him to do anything and he would have. Do you see now why I told you to give it back?” 

Jaskier stares at his friend and feels his heart crack a little. “Is that truly what you think of me, Dara? That I would...that I would ever hurt somebody like that?” 

“You wouldn’t know!” Dara exclaims, and the whole classroom falls silent as the other students turn curiously to see what the commotion is. Dara looks around uncomfortably and leans in close, voice just a whisper, “I know you wouldn’t have done anything on purpose, Jaskier, but anything could have happened.” 

“Well without it I was nearly killed, so thanks very much for your condescending words, but I think I’d rather just talk to Ciri for a while.” Jaskier knows he’s being immature, but he doesn’t care, he’s angry and he’s hurt and he’d thought...he’d thought if nothing else Dara had faith that he was at least a good person. 

Dara looks away, resigned, and Ciri’s whole demeanour is miserable,

“Surely we can talk about this?” she asks softly, sad and concerned. Jaskier shakes his head. 

“Dara did enough talking.” He mutters darkly, and settles in to finish off the last paragraph of the essay. 

...

Geralt is waiting in the entryway to the Great Hall for him at lunch, and Jaskier lets himself be led away from the others towards Slytherin table. 

“Why is it that you enjoy eating with me so much?” Jaskier asks curiously, and Geralt gives him a somewhat nervous look before speaking.

“I like your scent close. And I like feeding you.” 

“Huh.” The blush that spreads across Jaskier’s features isn’t delicate, but flaming, and he ducks his head to avoid Geralt’s intense gaze. “That’s...sweet, I think?” 

“Hm.” 

It’s as they’re sitting down that Ciri breaks off from Dara, with an expression Jaskier’s never seen on her face before, quite clearly pissed off. She and Yennefer nod at each other and Yen slides down a little to allow room for Ciri on Jaskier’s side, so that Geralt still has claim on his other. 

“Dara and I aren’t speaking. He’s being....a jerk! An absolute moron.” Ciri declares, and Yennefer chuckles into her goblet. 

“Always a delight, Cirilla,” Yen grins, and it seems to be genuine, much to Jaskier’s surprise. He had known logically that they must get along, but he hadn’t ever actually seen it before. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes to get it out of your system.” 

Ciri nods eagerly and begins a speech about the idiocy of men. Yennefer seems to be eating it up, the smile on her face growing with each passing second.

“Should we be offended?” Jaskier asks Geralt carefully, only just noticing that Geralt has finished serving his plate and started in on his own.

“No.” Geralt says simply, mid chew of a bite of a steak that looks just a little undercooked and really, how had Jaskier been so blind? There are signs everywhere, now that his eyes are open to them.

“Alright then. Well, I wrote you a song with my new lute,” Jaskier tries to sound casual but it comes out just a little too hopeful, and Geralt looks at him curiously, though there is something pleased in his expression.

“Will you insist on playing it for me?” Geralt asks, obviously going for disinterest, but Jaskier is no fool. Or well, not as much as he was before, anyway. 

“I suppose not,” He watches Geralt’s face as disappointment flashed across his features, there and gone before Jaskier can point it out. “Unless you’d be free after dinner?”

“Full moon.” Geralt reminds him tightly, obviously still a bit wary of Jaskier’s easy acceptance of his creature status. 

“Oh, silly me. Before breakfast tomorrow then?” 

“Hm.” 

That’s a yes if Jaskier ever heard one. He counts this whole meal as a dashing success and ignores the bitter hurt that flashes through him when he sees Dara eating breakfast with Essi, as if nothing happened at all.


	6. just wanna make you feel okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is a pillow, Jaskier gets mail, and Yennefer is N O T Jaskier’s friend, okay?

Jaskier wakes up feeling the most comfortable he ever has in his life. Which is strange, considering he’s slept in this bed since first year, so it really shouldn’t be any more or less comfortable, and yet. 

He snuggles into his pillow, a little firmer than he remembers it, but also warm and cushy and just right and steadily rising and falling beneath him- wait, what? 

Jaskier jerks up so quickly he hits his head on a bedpost and lets out a pained hiss, which launches Geralt into waking faster than anything else could, the older boy, shirtless and if Jaskier’s honest, kind of dirty, cradles Jaskier’s head as though it’s a precious stone. 

“What happened?” Geralt asks sharply, inspecting Jaskier’s head for injury, though the most he’d probably find is a bruise. 

“Before or after I realised you were in my bed, doing quite a good impression of a pillow?” Jaskier asks, face flushed with embarrassment. Geralt seems to suddenly realise where he is and what he’s wearing, enough to look the slightest bit uncomfortable. 

“I didn’t mean to come here. I’ve spent too much time close to you, my instincts just...” He trails off, looking just as freaked out about the situation as Jaskier is. 

“Your instincts?” Jaskier asks rather petulantly, because why couldn’t Geralt have just come to cuddle for the hell of it? Wouldn’t that be lovely. 

“Needed to be close to you.” Is all Geralt is willing to give as explanation, and Jaskier is very glad he slept with his drapes closed because he can hear the others whining and groaning about the noise.

“Well, now you are.” Jaskier lowers his voice to avoid irritating anyone further, “and you can’t leave yet, you’ll be seen. So you’ll have to just let me go back to sleep on you, you’re very comfortable and I’m still very sleepy.” Jaskier’s voice is strong but his heart is hammering in his chest, scared as he is of the rejection. 

“If I must.” Geralt nods, as though it’s no big deal at all, and lies back down, wrapping an arm around Jaskier this time to hold him close. 

This is definitely the best moment of Jaskier’s year so far, the boy muses, warmth and safety and comfort washing over him as he buries his face in Geralt’s neck and closes his eyes again. What a fantastic start to the morning. 

When he truly wakes, Geralt is sitting up on the bed beside him, clean now, hair slightly damp. 

“You used the showers?” Jaskier asks, rather groggily, and Geralt nods. “And yet nobody saw you?” 

“As you pointed out, Jaskier,” Geralt begins, as a smirk slowly etches it’s way across his face, “People call me the white wolf and still don’t know what I am. Of course I can take a shower without anyone noticing me.” 

Jaskier snorts. “That you know of.” He pushes himself up on his forearms and lets his gaze drift over all that is Geralt, body littered with scars and yes, there it is. He pokes at the bite mark and Geralt smacks his hand away. 

“Don’t.” He says sharply, expression closing off faster than a Niffler can steal gold. 

“How did it happen?” Jaskier asks anyway, as he is nothing if not persistent to a fault. Geralt looks away.

“We’ll miss breakfast if we stay here any longer. Everyone else has already gone down.”

There is no worse fate than a morning with no meal, Jaskier decides on the spot, and knows he will just ask again later on. 

“Alright then, let’s go and eat before Yennefer poisons my meal.” 

Geralt huffs out a dry chuckle and clambers out of bed, “I’ll need to get clothes from my dorm. Meet me there.”

Jaskier just nods and flutters his eyes prettily. “Anything for my white wolf.” He teases, not expecting the light blush that lights up Geralt’s cheeks. How delightful! Maybe he does have the smallest of chances with Geralt after all, if he plays his cards right.

“Hm.” 

It’s over breakfast that he gets the next letter. This one is harsher than the last, his father’s patience apparently run out at the lack of any correspondence on Jaskier’s side. 

“I could hex him, if you like.” Yennefer offers, right as Jaskier realises she’s reading over his shoulder. He crumples the letter forcefully and refuses to acknowledge her, which only serves to make all three of his companions concerned.

“What was it this time?” Ciri asks softly, as Geralt eyes the crumpled ball as if somehow he’ll be able to read it through sheer determination alone.

“Nothing important. It’s fine.” 

“What I read was far from fine,” Yennefer says testily, “but go ahead and tell your lies, hufflepuff.” 

Jaskier scowls at her and fights the urge to jab her with his fork. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt says simply, somehow conveying so much emotion into his name alone, and the younger boy shrinks back a little.

“It truly isn’t an issue.” Jaskier lies, and thinks, fuck it, and lies some more, “It’s nothing that bothers me.” 

“That letter was riddled with thinly veiled threats, I’d call that bothersome.” Yennefer says, somehow sounding disinterested in it all. 

Geralt growls. Literally. 

“You can’t go home,” Ciri says, worrying her lower lip, “promise me you’ll stay for the holidays. Or stay with Dara, I know we’re fighting but he’ll take you in if you ask. You know it to be true, Jask, please.” 

Jaskier shakes his head. “He’s all talk, my dear, I will be perfectly fine.” It’s true, really, his father never had laid a finger on him, but that doesn’t mean the emotional damage hasn’t been dealt. 

Yennefer reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder, and Jaskier blinks big blue eyes at her in bafflement. She doesn’t say a word, just nods to herself and pulls away a moment later, leaving him puzzled and a little weirded out, if he’s honest.

“What was that?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” She uses his own words against him with a smirk, sharing an amused look with Ciri, whose crinkled nose smooths out after a moment as some sort of realisation dawns on her. 

Again with the secrets? Really? 

“If you just cursed me-“

“She didn’t.” Geralt interrupts calmly, and then pushes Jaskier’s plate towards him pointedly. “Finish eating.” 

“Merlin. You’re not my keeper you know,” Jaskier mutters, even as he picks up his utensils and does exactly as he’s told. “I can take care of myself.” 

“Clearly you can’t.” Geralt disagrees, “Since Yennefer and I have lost count of how many times we’ve saved your life. You can’t stay out of trouble for even a second.” 

Jaskier glares at him with all the force he can muster. “Maybe if people started being a little more honest with me, I’d know when I’m walking into trouble.” 

Geralt and Ciri both look suitably chastised, but Yennefer just continues on as if she hadn’t heard him. She’s the worst. 

“Anyway,” Jaskier continues rather bitterly, “I’ve no choice. My Dad expects me.” 

“No, he expects someone else.” Ciri frowns, “Someone who is definitely not you.” 

Jaskier sighs. “Ciri, darling, light of my life, I cannot abandon him as much as I cannot change who I am. But what I can do, is at least try to be the person he wants me to be. It’s for the best.” 

Yennefer makes an ugly sound and glares at him, while Ciri just looks heartbroken.

“You can’t truly believe that.” She argues, obviously upset, “Your happiness should not be exchanged for his. This isn’t fair.” 

Jaskier can’t help but look at Geralt, as he considers what is fair and what is not. It’s not fair that Geralt was bitten by a wolf, it’s not fair that Geralt is a man instead of a woman, a woman he could have brought home, it’s not fair that none of them will just tell him the truth about anything, it’s not fair that Tulipè-

“Calm down, Jaskier.” Geralt murmurs, suddenly soft and gentle as he wraps an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Just stop thinking for a moment.” 

Jaskier can’t help himself, he buries his head in Geralt’s chest and heaves in a steadying breath, faltering a little when he feels Geralt stiffen around him. He moves to pull back but he’s reeled back in quickly. 

“Just didn’t expect it, little lark.” Geralt murmurs, and tentative fingers reach up to pat his head. 

“Isn’t this heart warming. Gross.” Yennefer grumbles, which makes Ciri giggle, despite her watery eyes. 

Everyone’s getting up to leave the great hall and head to their first class, so Jaskier reluctantly pulls away from Geralt and moves to stand. 

“It’s fine,” Yennefer says to Geralt quietly, as though she thinks Jaskier’s ears aren’t functional, “I’ll walk with him to Potions.” 

“I’d expect so, considering we share the class.” Jaskier snarks, rolling his eyes at her. She just quirks a single eyebrow and shoves him forward. He allows it, of course, even though he’s definitely strong enough to have been unmoved. Of course. 

Snape is harsh on them as he gives direction this morning, giving sharp warnings and pointedly looking at several potions-challenged Hufflepuffs as he does so, and then there’s blessed silence as he and Yennefer work in tandem. 

They make a surprisingly good pair, anticipating each other’s needs and surpassing expectations with their potions lately. It’s kind of nice to be out of Snape’s bad books. 

“I’ve been curious,” Yennefer says quietly, after their ingredients have all been mixed and their cauldron is simmering. 

“Oh, never a good sign, that.” Jaskier brushes off absently, ignoring her attentions.

“Fuck off.” Yennefer says without heat, “I’ve been thinking about your sister.” 

Jaskier tenses, and refuses to say a thing on principle. He doesn’t want to talk about this, and he’s sure she knows that. 

“Jaskier.” Yennefer presses on, “What happened to her?” 

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Tulipè was only here for first and second year, and then when her third year came around, she was gone. For Jaskier, it was his fourth year, and it was the strangest year of his life. People had asked of course, desperate for any kind of gossip, but what happened to her - it wasn’t something he wanted to overhear whispered in the corridors, shared around the school, treated like some sort of sob story. So he said nothing, and for the first time, Jaskier had felt like perhaps life wasn’t worth living. It was Ciri who had saved him, it was her first year at hogwarts, a transfer from beauxbatons, though Geralt had been there from the beginning. She’d had a tough year too, and they’d bonded over it until they became what they are now. But even Ciri doesn’t have the whole story. Jaskier’s not sure if he could ever tell it in its entirety. 

“Leave off.” 

Jaskier’s head jerks up as his eyes meet Dara’s, just a few benches back. Yennefer glares at him and opens her mouth to say something probably quite mean, but Dara cuts her off.

“He doesn’t like talking about it. Don’t try to force him.” 

Jaskier’s chest feels warm with fondness, and he smiles tentatively at Dara, who smiles back just as tentatively. 

“Fine.” Yennefer turns back to her scrolls as if the conversation had never been opened, and Jaskier feels so grateful to Dara for stepping in, relief sinking deep into his bones. And then, the oddest thing happens. Yennefer looks up a moment later, gaze sweeping over Jaskier, and says something he never would have expected from her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tear at an old wound.” 

He thinks she did, in fact, mean to do that, but perhaps she didn’t realise the severity of the wound. He just shrugs a shoulder at her, and she goes back to silently reading as they wait for their potion to settle blue. 

.. 

He finds Dara sitting by the fire in the common room, the other boy glancing up at his approach but staying silent as Jaskier settles down beside him, both turning to watch the flames lick at the firewood. 

“I don’t truly think you would have abused the dagger’s power.” Dara says after a while, voice thick with more emotion than Jaskier’s ever heard from him. “I’ve just...I’ve seen it before. People doing things that they never thought they’d do, losing their minds with the power. It was my own prejudice against such things that made me say that. I...you’ve never been anything but kind to me. To everyone. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything mean about anyone. Except maybe Yennefer. But I was just so caught up in my memories, that I wasn’t thinking clearly. I am truly sorry, Jaskier. I was wrong.” 

That’s the most Jaskier’s ever heard Dara say in one sitting, and for a moment he’s overwhelmed by it, until it catches up with him and Jaskier wipes at his eyes that are definitely not wet, and smiles at his companion.

“I forgive you, my friend. The past always manages to mess with one’s perceptions, no matter how buried one thinks it is. I’m grateful for your trust.” 

Dara lets out a long breath and his shoulders sag. “Thank you. I...I felt awful, after I thought about what I said.” 

“You don’t need to anymore. All is forgiven. After all, who else will come up with witty one liners whenever I do something stupid?”

“Oh, so all the time?”

“There it is.” Jaskier laughs, and leans back on his elbows, carpet soft on his skin. “Now, what in Merlin’s name happened between you and Ciri?” 

Dara coughs awkwardly, cheeks flushing slightly. “I might have shouted at her.”

“At Ciri? Cirilla Rivia? The tiny blonde with a heart five times her weight? What on earth for?” Jaskier gapes, and Dara flushes even darker. 

“She said some things that I...well, she was right, but I let my anger get the best of me.”

Jaskier hums, “She’s always right, but you’d best apologise to her. Whatever you said upset her greatly.” 

Dara nods, staring into the fire. “I didn’t mean the things I said. I hope she’ll understand that.” 

“There’s a lot of that going around,” Jaskier notes, watching as Dara winces. “Is there something you want to talk about, Dara?”

Dara just shakes his head. “Not today.”


	7. there’s nothing to say cause he knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for the Christmas holidays and things are NOT GOOD 
> 
> Chapter title from Runaway by Ed Sheeran  
> Trigger warnings in end notes

Jaskier is shaking with nerves as he finishes packing his trunk, sitting on it afterwards and letting his gaze wander around the room. 

It’s only two weeks, he reminds himself almost desperately, but two weeks feels quite a long time after becoming so immersed in the magical world again since the first of September. He doesn’t want to go, he realises, heart aching. Even two weeks feels far too long, and when had that happened? He’d been fine every other holiday, what changed?

Is it his attachment to Ciri deepening? Is it his sudden but wonderful friendship wth Geralt? His unexpected connection with Yennefer? Or is it the looming knowledge that his days here are numbered, only just catching up with him? 

He doesn’t want to go back to his life of nodding politely and playing the silent golden child, preparing for a life that he will hate.

Fuck, Yennefer has managed to worm her way into his head with all her stupid logic and reason. He’s always known this to be his future, had never hesitated to defend his decision to his friends, but Yen...Yen had just continued to argue the point in that annoyingly reasonable way. 

He retrieves Barker from the owlery and apologises to her softly as he ushers her into her cage, crooning softly to her when she gets frustrated within moments of being caged. 

“Yeah, doesn’t feel nice being trapped, does it love?” He murmurs to her, tone dripping with resignation and sympathy. As much as he’s tried to believe he’s okay with all of this, it’s only becoming more and more obvious that he’s not. 

“There’s still time to stay with me.” Dara says as everyone gathers on the platform after getting off the train to say their goodbyes, and Jaskier smiles at him, big and fake, and shrugs.

“I do so appreciate the offer, but I’m just fine.” 

Yennefer rolls her eyes and walks off instead of saying goodbye which is just so...Yennefer, really. Dara is resigned as he departs with his Aunt. Ciri clings to him and pretends she isn’t crying as she holds him far too tightly, squeezing the air from him lungs. 

He kisses the top of her head as she pulls away, discreetly wiping at her eyes. “You’ll write, won’t you?” 

Jaskier smiles. “For you, dear Ciri, I will write novels.” 

She giggles and nods and then to Jaskier’s shock Geralt pulls him close, clinging only barely gentler than Ciri had, one hand coming up to stroke Jaskier’s hair, and Jaskier’s glad his face is buried in Geralt’s admittedly very broad and muscular chest, so that nobody can see how embarrassingly flustered he is. His heart races at the closeness, at the feeling of being held so close by someone he has such strong feelings for. 

When Geralt pulls back he seems to consider something for a moment, before pressing his lips to Jaskier’s forehead and then pulling him back in again and oh god, Jaskier could die happy in this moment. 

“Write to me as well.” Geralt says, and it’s not a request but a demand, yet Jaskier can’t help but find it annoyingly charming.

“Of course, I can’t have you spending all your days brooding and glaring at nothing, at least if you’ve got something to read you might have some actual fun.” Jaskier teases, beaming when Geralt’s chest rumbles with a chuckle. 

As they part limbs, Geralt looks at Jaskier intensely and mutters a soft, almost irked, “I’ll miss you. A lot.” 

Jaskier’s heart actually skips a beat. “I should think so, I’m a delight.” And then, after a moment of careful deliberation of what is too much and what isn’t, he adds, “But I’ll miss you too, each day I’m gone.” 

The makings of a fond smile appear on Geralt’s face. “Hm.”

Jaskier could write sonnets about that sound. But he wouldn’t, because that would be weird. Except maybe it wouldn’t? He could just sing it to himself only and then- no, still weird. 

“Dad’s here.” Ciri interrupts, nodding towards a man who is impossibly large, bulky in the same way Geralt is but somehow twice his size and much older. 

The man notices the group and makes his way over, a gentle smile on his face as he wraps Ciri up in a hug and pats Geralt’s shoulder in greeting, and then his eyes fall on Jaskier.

“And who might this be?” He asks, side-eyeing Geralt for some reason, amusement sparkling in his eyes. Jaskier shrinks in on himself a bit, hoping that despite being an elder pure blood wizard, he isn’t as prejudiced as the others he’s come across, despite his children being quite the opposite. 

“I’m Jaskier, sir.” He can’t help but fall back into old patterns, this is how Julian Pankratz is to behave with those older than him. He ignores Ciri’s frown and Geralt’s raised eyebrow. “I’m friends with Cirilla and Geralt.” 

The man glances between the three of them, clearly confused about something, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jaskier. My children write about you constantly. You can call me Vesemir.” 

Jaskier’s relief is plain but nobody makes note of it as he perks up. “They do, do they?” He asks brightly, nudging Geralt with his elbow. Geralt nudges back a bit more forcefully, and Jaskier shoots him an indignant look.

“Hm.” Vesemir says, oh okay, so that’s where Geralt gets it- “I was however under the impression that you were more than friends, though.” 

Jaskier blinks and then rushes to smooth over any potentially awkward misunderstanding, “I can assure you, Ciri and I are just the best of friends, nothing more.” 

Vesemir gives Geralt a meaningful look that has him looking away. “I’m sure.” Vesemir finally says, which is so confusing -

“Julian!” 

Jaskier flinches and quickly backs out of the group. “I’ll see you all after Christmas break.” He says curtly, ignoring Vesemir’s knowing gaze and his friends’ concern. 

“Hello father.” Jaskier says carefully, examining his father in an attempt to deduce what kind of mood he’s in, but Richard Pankratz seems to be in one of his better moods, and even deems his son worthy of a smile and a nod of greeting. Well, this bodes well then. 

“Let’s go. I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes that you’re to sit in on.”

Jaskier sighs and nods, following his Father out and glancing back at his friends wistfully, surprised to see them still standing there, seemingly deep in discussion. Well, how hard can two weeks really be? 

He’s only four days in when it happens. They’re sitting down to dinner, a formal affair as always, as the maid lays hot plates before them both and then scurries off when Richard dismisses her. Jaskier feels sorry for the maid, a fair haired girl who can’t be older then twenty five, who has to live with his father year round. Maybe he just feels sorry for her because he knows that’s soon to be his own life, only with more politics and business. 

Jaskier picks up his fork to eat when Richard clears his throat. 

“Father?” 

Richard frowns deeply. “I saw a lute in your bedroom this afternoon.” 

Jaskier freezes, his heart turns to ice. Not this one too, he can’t break this one too-

“So I figured I’d have a look around. Well, you can imagine how disappointed I was when I found these.” Richard tugs folded papers from his inner blazer pocket and Jaskier can’t fucking breathe, those are his letters, why does he have his letters? 

“Father-“

“Who exactly is Geralt? He seems very pleased that you’re making use of the lute he gave you. That’s quite an expensive gift from a friend.” 

“He’s...he’s Cirilla’s brother.” At his Father’s blank face, he realises that Richard doesn’t even know who Ciri is. Hasn’t paid attention to a single thing Jaskier has said over the years. “Cirilla, my best friend?” 

Richard scowls. “I’m not asking about this Cirilla person, I’m asking about Geralt.”

“He’s a friend too, that’s all.” 

“A friend who buys you expensive gifts and sends you boxes of chocolates? No, I don’t believe that.” Richard unfolds one of the letters, and Jaskier cranes his neck to see which one and oh, fuck, it’s the one from Yennefer. The one where she tells him to stop waxing poetic about Geralt’s eyes and just fuck him already. “This is all very incriminating, Julian. I thought we’d been over this.” 

No, they hadn’t, he’d just smashed mother’s lute and told him to forget about men. 

Jaskier is surprised by the surge of rage that builds in his gut, so used to wilting under Richard’s harsh stares, living his life in yes sirs and sorry sirs and I’ll be better sirs. But now- now it’s burning in him, chest constricting and tongue feeling like fire and he can’t stop the words that follow. “So you went into my bedroom, went through my things, read my private letters and now you’re trying to what, exactly?! I’m always going to like men, Father, whether you like it or not, and I’m always going to like women too. Fuck, you don’t even know my friends names, yet you want me to be your perfect son? You’re far from a perfect father!” 

Oh, that was the wrong thing to do. Richard jerks to his feet and Jaskier mimics him almost immediately. 

“How dare you speak to me that way!” Richard rages, face turning an ugly red and nostrils flaring, and Jaskier takes a step closer, chin up to meet his gaze just as angrily. “I am your father and you will respect me!”

“How could I respect someone who will never respect me?! You’ve never loved me, you never loved Tulipè, and I bet you never loved Mother eith-“

He doesn’t see the hit coming, but suddenly he’s on the floor, having knocked back into the chair and taken it down with him, and he’s staring up at his father in shock, his cheek flaring red and hot, his ass definitely bruised, and his eyes wide with hurt.

“You hit me.” Jaskier whispers, his hand coming up to cradle his cheek, like he can’t quite believe what happened. Richard looks just as startled himself, backing away a few feet as the maid watches on from the doorway, having come to see what the shouting was. Jaskier hopes she enjoyed the show. “You...I was never going to be enough for you, was I?” He doesn’t know why he bothers asking, he doesn’t get a response, and there’s an aching, pained silence in the room as neither is willing to be the first to move. 

And then, there’s hands. Soft, small hands with sharp glossy nails, wrapping around Jaskier’s elbows from behind and helping him to his feet. It takes a moment to process that, and he goes from watching his father’s suddenly horrified face to looking behind him and meeting Yennefer’s gaze. She looks him over and for the first time, there’s a hint of something gentle there. And then her eyes flash with anger and she turns her wrath on Richard.

“You will never touch him again.” She snarls, even as she’s hauling Jaskier against her side with the utmost care. “You won’t try to contact him, you won’t do anything to cause him harm. You won’t see him again unless it’s on his terms. If you try anything, you’ll burn.” 

She means it, Jaskier knows, There’s a dark, sinister sincerity in her tone that Jaskier should probably be afraid of, but he’s throwing probably out the window in favor of allowing Yen to guide him away, through the portal she’s maintained behind them, until he’s sitting, still stricken, on what must be her bed.

Yennefer releases him and then immediately starts ranting as she starts rifling through a cabinet across the room. “I knew I was right to put an alarm on you, I knew something was going on, you should have just fucking told the truth you stupid fucking-“ She cuts herself off as she looks back over at him and sees his face. “Oh.” 

“He hit me.” Jaskier states, as if that wasn’t already blindingly obvious. Yen sinks into the soft mattress beside him as sharp nails tilt his face towards her and she starts dabbing at his cheek with something wet. 

“It was the first time, then?” Yen asks, brows furrowed in concentration as she spreads the cold goo evenly across the reddened, swelling side of his face. 

“He-“

“Hit you, yes, so it was the first time.” Yennefer sighs, “I thought it had been going on longer than that. You just seemed - well, I suppose emotional abuse will do just as much harm.” 

“He didn’t abuse-“

“He did, this was just the first time it was physical.” Yennefer says sharply. “I would know. Now, I need you to tell me which of your things need retrieval and where they are.” 

He gives the information over in a daze and Yen nods, and then in a surprising gesture of kindness, she cups his cheek. “It’s going to be alright. I’ll get your things, Geralt and Ciri will be here soon. Just...try to calm down. You’re in shock, and I don’t know how you’ll react when you come down from it.” 

Jaskier nods mutely, for the first time finding he has nothing to say. She watches him for another moment, before patting his knee and leaving him alone in the room. 

He falls back on the bed, and stares at the ceiling. What happened, again? Why did he say those things? Why did...why did his father hit him? Even Richard had looked shocked by his actions, and truly, Jaskier knows, he never should have brought up Tulipè or mother, he knows they’re not to be talked about, what was he thinking? 

He’s so lost in thought that he loses time too, barely hears the door when it creaks open and two sets of footsteps pad across the soft carpet. There’s a hesitation, and Jaskier doesn’t look up, before Cirilla climbs into the bed and curls against his right side, the side that’s unblemished, and Geralt follows her lead on his other side. There’s the gentle press of lips against the crown of his head as Ciri rests her own head on his chest.

They lie like that for a long time, before Jaskier finds his voice again.

“I did something really stupid.” 

Geralt hushes him and Ciri squeezes his hands. 

“No, you were brave.” Geralt says calmly, as if he somehow knows this to be true, and Ciri nods her agreement against his chest, sniffling. 

“I wish you hadn’t gone home.” Ciri says softly. “I wish you weren’t hurt.” 

“I wish I could have been what he wanted.” Jaskier says without thinking, and then Ciri really is crying, soft and quiet, as she threads their fingers together ever so tightly. Geralt starts running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, calloused hands gentle in their movements. 

“You were never going to be, little lark.” Geralt tells him softly, and Jaskier doesn’t have enough time to feel hurt before Geralt continues, “You were always going to be better than that. Better than anything he could have wanted.” 

“The best.” Ciri agrees through her stuffy nose. 

“What’s going to happen to me now?” Jaskier asks softly, realisation setting in that he is now, essentially, homeless.

“You’re going to have dinner when you’re ready, and then you’re going to talk to the Vengerbergs.” Geralt explains, voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“They’re keen to meet you. Yennefer can act like none of us are friends all she likes, but her parents know a lot about you, which means she must actually talk about you fondly.” Ciri muses, and Jaskier has to fight off the sudden urge to cry. He has a lot more friends than he thought he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier’s father is emotionally abusive and hits him :( to avoid this scene skip from when his father clears his throat at dinner to Jaskier sitting on Yennefer’s bed.


	8. it could take a bit of time to heal this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like...sad!Jaskier.

He must doze off at some point, because when he wakes Geralt and Ciri are gone and instead it’s Yennefer by his side, gently rubbing circles into his shoulder to wake him, and if that’s not blackmail material for at least the next five years, Jaskier doesn’t know what is. 

She’s watching him carefully as he wakes, rubbing at his eyes and frowning when thick fabric weighs his arms down further. 

“It’s Geralt’s coat.” Yennefer explains simply, when he looks down at the leather around his arms in puzzlement. “He needed to leave his scent with you. It’s a werewolf thing, I suppose. How are you feeling?” 

“I...I don’t know.” Jaskier admits quietly, as earlier events catch up to his mind. “Sad, angry. Confused.” 

Yennefer nods, bites her lip, and then gestures towards the doors. “Geralt and Cirilla are staying in guest rooms. I can too, if you’d like, but I would rather be in my own bed. And as much as I would rather curse you I don’t want you to be alone tonight. Geralt can’t share with you for obvious reasons, my parents would never have it.”

Obvious reasons? Like what? 

Jaskier takes a moment to think it over and as much as he would rather like to have Geralt, Yennefer is the one who came for him. Who protected him. He feels...safe, with her, despite their extremely strange relationship that can’t quite be called a friendship but can’t be not one either. Merlin, his life is weird now. 

“You don’t mind sharing with me?” 

“Of course I do.” She snaps, and ah yes, there’s the Yennefer he knows. “But you shouldn’t be alone and if I’m honest, neither should I. Tonight brought up a lot of shit for me. So we’re going to do each other this favour and never speak of it again, understood?” 

Jaskier nods, fighting off the grin, because that was as much an admittance of friendly feelings as it gets for Yennefer. Well, for normal, every day Yennefer. 

“Good. Now, are you up for eating? It’s obviously too late for you to talk to Mum and Dad, but not too late for food, if you need it.”

Jaskier shakes his head. The idea of eating makes his stomach turn, and he isn’t sure if that’s because they were about to eat when it happened, or if everything is just too much for him right now and he’s too uneasy to eat. He doesn’t really want to think about the reasons. 

“Alright, good. Get under the covers then. Merlin’s sake, you’re slow. I’m tired, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier pushes himself up as much as he can in his exhausted state and sits up so he can pull the covers back and slide under them, resting his head against a pillow as Yennefer slips in beside him. 

There’s silence for a long time before he hears Yennefer’s voice, soft in the dark. “You can hold my hand if you swear you’ll never tell a soul about it.” 

He knows an invitation when he hears one, and reaches out almost greedily, starving for some positive touch, the smallest of affections, and she gives it freely, as much as she pretends she doesn’t. 

“Goodnight, Yen. I’m glad we’re best buddies now.” 

“Go fuck yourself, hufflepuff.” 

Yeah, things can still be normal. Jaskier is smiling as he falls back into sleep. 

When Jaskier wakes, he feels like shit. He also feels like crying, quite a lot. Yennefer is already awake and watching him carefully from where she’s sitting beside him, propped up against the headboard, brushing her hair. Jaskier blinks quickly to rid himself of the wetness but it doesn’t help, so he rolls over instead. He doesn’t want her to see him like this, despite how she saw him yesterday. It doesn’t make sense, he was okay before, wasn’t he? 

“Jaskier.” Yennefer’s silky voice breaks the silence. “Come here.” 

He shakes his head and presses his face into the pillow as he attempts to suppress a sob. She sighs, a heavy, half irritated half commiserating sound, and then pulls him backwards with surprising strength. She tugs and pulls and pushes until his head is in her lap. “Cry. I don’t mind.” She says, as fingers run through his hair, so he does. He cries until he can’t see anything but a blur, cries harder when he remembers this means he won’t see his dad again for a long time, and then somehow, inexplicably, he cries harder when he remembers he shouldn’t want to see his dad.

He’s still crying when there’s a knock at the door, and Yennefer calls out to allow whoever it is entrance. 

Geralt steps in and immediately moves towards the bed, holding his hands out to Yennefer in the universal gesture of ‘give’, and she does, with a roll of her eyes, gently helping Geralt to lift Jaskier and then he’s pressed against a firm chest and it’s perfect for burying his face in. 

“I will need my room back by tonight, if you can convince him to-“

“Wait, did you sleep with him?” Geralt asks, sudden, tone a mix of amusement and something Jaskier can’t quite put his finger on. 

“I...Yes, but only because I had no other option.” Yennefer mutters darkly, and Jaskier has to remind himself that she doesn’t mean it, that last night was important for the both of them, but it’s hard when he’s in such a state.

“You could have bunked with Ciri. Jaskier could have bunked with me.” 

“We both know why Jaskier couldn’t bunk with you.” 

“I wouldn’t have tried anything, not after everything was still fresh.”

“He’s a sleep talker, y’know.” And yes, Yen is literally taunting Geralt with his sleep talking, what? 

“What does he-“

“I may be crying but I do have functional ears!” Jaskier interrupts, barely bothering to move his face back, even as Geralt rubs soothing circles into his back.

“I’m sorry, little lark.” Geralt murmurs, and rests his chin on top of Jaskier’s head. 

That’s when the words catch up with Jaskier, and he pauses, and then pulls back to stare at Geralt, cheeks ruddy and eyes wet and red rimmed. Geralt watches him curiously, looking like he’s definitely out of his depth, but then he smiles kindly - or, at least, that’s what Jaskier thinks the grimace is meant to be. Jaskier stares at him for a long time.

“What did you mean before?” He asks finally, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “What would you have tried?” 

“Oof.” Yennefer winces and climbs out of the bed. “That’s my queue, I’ll see you two at breakfast.” She says as she makes a hasty retreat, which only serves to deepen Jaskier’s confusion. There’s a spark of hope there too now, though, because Geralt’s own cheeks are reddening now. 

“I...nothing, when you’re in this state.” Geralt mumbles uncomfortably, and then it’s like a door slams open and everything falls out from inside, every moment that Jaskier has passed off as nothing, Ciri’s little conspiratorial smiles,  
Vesemir’s confusion, the cuddling - oh, Jaskier is a fool. A complete and utter fool.

“Are we...are we dating?!” Jaskier can’t help that he sounds a little hysterical, but he’s starting to think he’s short of more than a few marbles himself, if he’s managed to miss this much. Geralt blinks at him.

“Yes?” He says, sounding baffled. “Did you- how hard did-“ He must decide whatever he’d been about to say is inappropriate, because he freezes in his tracks. Jaskier can fill in the blanks. How hard did he hit you. Well, fuck. 

“Not...not that hard.” Jaskier manages to say, eyes prickling again, as Geralt winces at his own question. 

“I didn’t mean to-“

“I know. Geralt, how long have we been dating?” 

“Since the first night of the full moon,” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier groans. He’s a complete idiot. 

“So, hypothetically, I could’ve been kissing you since then?” 

Geralt hides a smile and looks away as he nods, and nope, Jaskier isn’t having that at all, he reaches out and grabs the sides of Geralt’s face, turning his head back towards him.

“Okay. We’re going to kiss now, and it’s going to be awesome, and you’re not going to ruin this moment for me by talking about the ‘state’ I’m in, got it?” 

Geralt nods again, smile widening, and Jaskier leans in and presses their lips together.

There aren’t any fireworks, there’s no choir singing, none of the things from Jaskier’s imagination happen, but it’s warm. It’s nice. It feels like coming home.

Geralt’s soft grip loosens enough to press him back down into the pillows as he deepens the kiss, which Jaskier welcomes eagerly, the only thing breaking them apart is Yennefer aggressively banging on the door and shouting about her room being her sacred space, or some nonsense like that. 

Geralt chest rumbles as he laughs against Jaskier’s lips and then pulls back, eyes bright and smile still in place.

“Come on. You need to eat.” He explains at Jaskier’s thoroughly put our expression.

“But kissing,” Jaskier whines, “so much kissing to make up for.” 

“There will be time for that. Come.” He’s tugged to his feet and he can’t help but reach down for Geralt’s hand, gripping it tightly as they leave the room and head downstairs. 

The table is near full when they enter the dining room, Ciri and Yennefer on one side, and two people Jaskier’s never seen on either end. Most likely Yennefer’s parents. The woman, seated closest to Ciri, looks up from her meal and smiles. 

She has kind eyes, Jaskier notes. He doesn’t know why that’s important, but it is.

“Sit down, boys, I’m sure you’re starving.” The man chuckles, with a raised eyebrow, and huh, that’s the exact same expression Yennefer makes when she’s bullyin-teasing them. Jaskier sits closer to Yennefer’s mother, a little wary of a male of that age and build so soon, and it looks like everyone at the table is aware of that, much to Jaskier’s discomfort. 

“I’m Mandy,” Yen’s mother tells him, as she passes him a dish full of bacon strips. He takes two for his plate and smiles at her, bashfully. He’s usually alright at charming people, but this is different. Everyone here knows what happened, and it makes him uncomfortable.

“Julian.” He mumbles quietly, and Geralt and Ciri both freeze, food half way to their mouths. 

Mandy frowns, “I thought you preferred to be called Jaskier, love.” 

He doesn’t know why he did that. It felt like reflex, sitting down to a meal and - but this isn’t one of his father’s business meals. This isn’t the same at all. It suddenly strikes him that he’s never been allowed to take a meal with a friend’s family before. How has he never noticed that?

“I, I do. Prefer Jaskier. Please.” 

Mandy’s frown melts away and she smiles brightly at him, blue eyes sparkling. “Jaskier it is. Now, you enjoy your breakfast and relax, and then Danny and I will talk to you after breakfast, alright?” 

Jaskier glances between them and is surprised to find Yennefer’s father- Danny, he supposes, smiling at him over the newspaper. It’s a small smile, but a genuine one nonetheless, so Jaskier nods, biting his lip. It’ll be okay, surely, they’re just people after all. They just want to help, right? 

He catches Ciri’s eye across the table, parallel to him, and she smiles at him too. “So, you and Geralt were up there for a while.” 

“Finally figure out you were together, did you?” Yennefer drawls, sounding bored as she pokes at her eggs. 

Jaskier freezes. He looks at Geralt, then at Mandy and Danny, cautious, waiting for one of them to snap, but there’s just silence. Silence, and Jaskier’s fearful trembling. He can’t help that his gaze lands on Danny expectantly, waiting for him to throw the paper down and do-something. Anything. But the man seems completely disinterested in breakfast conversation, invested in his paper. 

“Jaskier?” Ciri asks, and he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring but when his gaze snaps back to her she looks concerned. Fuck, they all do. 

“Sorry, I...” He doesn’t know what to say, so he just says nothing after that. Geralt seems to be the first to catch on, reaching over and squeezing Jaskier’s hand reassuringly. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“He’s right, love.” Mandy agrees, watching him with concern. “Do you need to take a minute?” 

“No, I’m fine.” Jaskier shakes his head even though he thinks maybe he should take a minute, and shoves a piece of toast in his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Ciri whispers and he just shrugs at her. It’s not her fault. 

The subject changes quickly to whether the cannons will ever actually win a match, and Jaskier lets the relief pour over him as he feels the tension leave his body. Nothing happened. Mandy and Danny didn’t even react to the suggestion of he and Geralt together. Like their gender didn’t matter to them. 

After breakfast Geralt kisses his forehead and tells him he’ll just be in the next room with Yen and Ciri, playing Gwent, if he needs him. Jaskier nods, and then he is left alone with two strangers. Albeit, two strangers who gave him sanctuary in their home.

They move to the living room, just seperated from the dining room by an archway, Danny and Mandy claiming one sofa while Jaskier awkwardly takes the other. 

“So, um, I wanted to say thank you. For letting me stay here last night.” Jaskier manages to squeak out, one hand twisting around his wrist. He feels like his bones are vibrating in his skin. 

“You’re very welcome,” Danny smiles calmly, hands clasped together, elbows on knees, leaning forward the slightest bit. So very casual. Richard wouldn’t have been caught dead sitting like that. “We want you to know you’re welcome here for the rest of the holidays as well, if you would like. There’re plenty of rooms.” 

Mandy leans forward conspiratorially, grinning at Jaskier. “And between us, I think Yennefer gets a bit lonely during the holidays.” 

Jaskier chokes on a giggle. “Yen? Lonely? I mean, bored maybe, but lonely?” 

Danny looks at Jaskier with searching eyes. “Everyone gets lonely. Now, I hate to do this, but if you’re going to stay we need to be aware of your situation. At breakfast you...seemed uncomfortable, when Yennefer mentioned your relationship with Geralt. Is that something we should avoid talking about as well?” 

Jaskier had thought Danny was too immersed in the paper to notice, but that means he was probably well aware of how intensely Jaskier had been staring at him, and he flushes. Merlin, this is a conversation he’d never thought he’d have.

“No, I...well, yesterday,” He begins, tentative, but they just watch him with soft eyes so he takes a deep breath, “My father was angry because I like boys. That’s what started it. And when Yen said what she said, I thought...” he doesn’t mention what escalated it, and he doesn’t know how to tell these very nice people that he’d expected them to fly into a blind rage, so.

“Ah.” Mandy nods, looking sympathetic. “Right then, let’s clear that up, we don’t care at all. You love who you love, and in this house, we celebrate love in all its forms.” 

Danny nods his agreement. 

Jaskier sits still, stumped, for a moment. Of course he’d known that there were people out there who aren’t homophobic. Of course he did. But he’s so used to...well, it doesn’t matter now. 

“Okay. Well, I’m bisexual.” 

Danny and Mandy just nod, smiling. 

“Cool. Is this weird? This feels weird.” 

“Depends who you ask.” Danny says vaguely, and Jaskier blinks. “Not for us, but maybe for you.” 

“Oh. I don’t know.” 

“That’s okay.” Mandy stands, “Is there anything you’d like to talk about before we part ways for now?” 

“No, there’s not.” Jaskier says, because honestly he can’t really think now, they’ve turned his biggest fear upside down. He’s sure he probably will talk to them again about...stuff, before the holidays end, but for now he’s rather go and sit in Geralt’s lap. Because that’s an option now. 

Jaskier’s sure his cheeks are pink when he leaves the room, but they both say they’ll see him later and not to forget to have lunch and snacks and just - they’re more like his parents than Richard ever was. After being in their company for an hour at most. What exactly did that say about his relationship with his father?


End file.
